


Such A Part Of You

by Emelye



Series: The Resolute Urgency of Now [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-04
Updated: 2010-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-05 18:51:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emelye/pseuds/Emelye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dying for someone you love is easy, it's living for them that's hard."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

  
The air was still and smelled of pressed flowers and sickness. A clock on the mantle ticked loudly, keeping time with the labored breaths of the room's lone occupant. She'd lain in her sickbed for hours waiting for surcease that refused to come, her son having disappeared hours or days earlier, she couldn't be entirely certain. Pain and fear completely altered her perception of time. Minutes felt interminable during one of her episodes. Other times, the laudanum would take effect and she would wake in a cold sweat, unable to remember falling asleep but perceiving that a great deal of time had passed while she floated in and out of opiated dreams, listless and untethered.

The swirling eddy of light that appeared at her bedside was a new entry for her catalogue of fever dreams, but rather pretty and not nearly as frightening as some of the visions she'd witnessed under the influence of her medicine. Nevertheless, she was startled to see the man appear from the midst of the vortex, and cried out for her son, though her voice was weak.

"William!" Immediately she was sent into a paroxysm of coughing, damning her handkerchief with blood.

_Shh_… The man whispered, though his mouth never moved and the sound appeared to come from everywhere at once.

"Are you an angel?" She asked, wondering if perhaps this celestial visitor meant to bare her to her rest. The man (for his features, those she could perceive, were certainly masculine though most of him seemed made up of light itself) smiled and extended his hand.

_I will take you to your son_, she heard and immediately felt a pang that her son, her dearest boy, was most certainly dead, but the angel's smile was so warming and his manner so sure, that she smiled a little in return and accepted his hand. Warmth traveled the length of her arm from where they touched. He drew her effortlessly from her bed, and without a second glance Mrs. Thomas H. Pratt passed with him into the light, her feet never touching the ground.

* * *

  
Spike heard the front door slam and put his book down, listening for the heavy clomping of Xander's boots on the stairs. He waited patiently for the bedroom door to open and kept his peace while Xander muttered and huffed and stripped down angrily to his underpants before falling into the chair and fixing Spike with a pleading expression.

"Please tell me we don't have anything to do tonight."

"We don't have anything to do tonight," he replied obediently, trying to lighten the mood. Xander rubbed his hands over his face and whined a little.

"What do we have to do?"

Spike looked over at the clock and tried to figure whether or not they had time for a quickie before they were expected.

"Research. Weird lights popping up around town. Watcher thinks someone's playing with dimensional portals." Xander sagged pitifully and Spike sighed. "Come here, you."

Xander groaned, stood, and walked the three feet to the bed before collapsing face down. Spike chuckled at his lover's sense of the dramatic before grabbing a leg, shifting a foot into his lap and pressing a thumb into the instep.

"Oh, sweet merciful Zeus…" he moaned. "Don't you dare stop doing that."

Spike rolled his eyes.

"Does it feel like I'm stopping?"

Xander grunted in response.

"If I ever, _ever_, tell you I'm going to my parent's house for dinner again, could you please have mercy on me and just club me over the head and chain me up in the bathtub?"

Spike laughed.

"That, love, is the most sensible thing you've said all day. Alvaro! Get the manacles!" He shouted, tickling the bottom of Xander's foot. Xander howled with laughter and shoved him while trying to cover his mouth, allowing Spike to get his waist in a scissor hold.

"Stop that, he'll hear you!" He hissed, though Spike could tell he wasn't half as embarrassed as he let on. He let Xander up before pulling him down beside him on the bed, running his hands through thick, sable hair and tugging slightly as he brought them face to face.

"Why do you still bother about them, love?" He asked. Xander sighed and started combing the ceiling for answers, the typical weary and beleaguered expression on his face that only his family could bring about.

"Cause they're my parents? Because my dad is ultimately a product of a different time and a conservative, lower-class background and even though he's a bigoted, alcoholic asshole he still taught me how to build model cars and he's the reason my shop class birdhouses were always prominently displayed? I don't know…"

"Shh…" Spike interrupted. "Don't take on, love. Just don't like seeing you hurt is all." Spike explained, trying to pet Xander down from the plateau of frustration before he got himself too worked up to shag.

"I know. I thought about telling Mom about us tonight."

Spike grew still, not wanting to let on to Xander how much he hoped he would. Their unspoken agreement not to talk about Claiming and coming out to parents and parental-type figures hung heavily between them. "Yeah?" he prodded carefully. Xander continued without missing a beat, unaware of the tenterhooks he'd left Spike hanging on.

"Yeah, you know how she is—half Jewish, half Catholic and dinner was the typical Harris family guilt-a-palooza…"

"Anya again?" Spike guessed. Xander tapped his nose by way of reply.

"I know she means well but she _just couldn't let it go_, you know? And I thought for a minute about just saying 'actually Mom, I have found myself a nice young lady to settle down with, only not so much with the lady bits, the youth or the niceness…'"

Xander trailed off and Spike guessed nothing had come of it. A familiar disappointment settled in his chest, though he told himself there was time enough for that.

Always time, for him at least.

"You ever plan to tell her?" He asked at last. Xander got a strange smile on his face as he considered it.

"I can't decide how she'd take it. Either it'd be guilt about being gay, guilt about disappointing my father, guilt about the subsequent lack of grandchildren or, possibly, if she's in one of her more understanding moods she might be happy she has something else to contribute to her general martyrdom. It's a toss up." Spike sighed, frustrated at his inability to find a simple solution to his lover's family difficulties that didn't involve murder, torture, or larceny, though he still reserved some hope for fraud.

"Anything _I_ can do, love?" He asked. Xander smiled—the warm one that lit up his face—the one that Spike had longed for all night. It made the boy glow.

"Yeah, you can come over here and kiss me," he said. Spike leapt into action but was suddenly waylaid by something Xander had said.

"Wait, your mum's half Jewish? What in blazes is she doing with your father?"

Xander sighed.

"I have no idea."

* * *

  


Chapter One

Spike examined the gap in the floorboards beneath the stairs, half listening to Xan and the Slayer bantering good-naturedly while the Watcher droned on. He couldn't be bothered to care. Or rather, he could be, but certainly not until someone had the sense to tell him what to kill so he could get on with it and get Harris back home.

His fist clenched when the cigarette he desperately wanted failed to materialize between his fingers.

Hadn't been that long ago he'd been set up as Master of Sunnydale, but it was taking it's toll on him, all right. He kept waiting for one of the other do-gooders to notice that he had enough to be getting on with in managing the normal demon skirmishes and half-arsed challenges, and yet every night, here they were. Xander cheerfully oblivious and so bloody _proud_ of him—and it wasn't like he didn't like a scrap as much as the next vamp but even the undead needed to rest now and again. Trouble was, there just weren't enough hours in the day to sleep _and_ shag Harris's brains out.

It was unsupportable. Unless he _could_ actually make the days longer. Maybe one of the witches had a spell…

Spike was brought back to the present by the scraping of benches across the floor as the crew began scavenging weapons. Xander caught his eye and smiled wryly before tossing him an axe.

"Grathnr'ak demon. Think you're up to it?" Xander smirked. _Cheeky bugger_.

"Here aren't I?" He threw back, but his smile must have been too slow in coming. Worry filled the boy's eyes and his hand came up to cup his cheek. He quickly pressed a kiss to Xander's palm then cleared his throat in warning before Rupert, who had turned back towards them, could spot it. Xander's head whipped around in fear before settling back into a guilty expression.

They were herded out the door like cattle before he could brush off any forthcoming apologies, however, which he frankly resented and proceeded to express his feelings on the matter even more vituperatively than usual because it made Xan do the thing where you could tell he wanted to bust a gut laughing but didn't want anyone to know it and so he started snorting like a damn pig.

Which, as well as being fucking adorable, was really penance enough for the time being.

Twenty minutes later, everything went to hell.

"Hro' sk demaov s'laig!"

The Slayer was weaving on her feet and had bits of twigs sticking out from her hair from when the Grathnr'ak had literally dragged her through a hedge backwards. At the time, he'd appreciated the poetry of it, that is, until the tough bastard shrugged off the witches' spells and headed straight for Harris. He'd vaulted several tombstones from where he'd been thrown to get to him before the demon could follow through on his threat, but he could see he wasn't going to make it. His foot impacted with the Grathnr'ak's head at about the same moment his club of a fist made time with Xander's face. They all went down.

"Vro'sk demaov!" The demon complained.

"Jro'sk vedemaov! S'laig hrmaun vro'sk!" He explained. The demon looked puzzled, at least, as much as a Grathnr'ak was able. Sort of hard to tell one facial expression from another with that lot.

"Dro'sk hrmaun vedemaov?"

"Jro'sk hrmaun."

The demon looked about to capitulate, but when his head was separated from his body it became something of a moot point.

"You speak Frick n' frack?" Buffy panted, axe dripping with the slightly acidic mustard colored ichor that now covered them all. He pulled himself to his feet and offered a slimy hand up to the boy.

"Yeah. Got a towel?"

Obviously stuck on the part of the answer that didn't involve clean-up, the Slayer ignored his request as he limped toward Harris's car.

"What'd he say?" She asked, bringing up the rear, collecting the fallen weaponry as she went.

He clenched his jaw and looked over at Xander, wondering how much he wanted to press his luck this evening.

"Slayer, give me a minute to talk to Xan, yeah?"

Not, obviously, the answer she expected, but to her credit she said,

"Okay, I'll just throw these in the trunk."

He watched her go before turning to Xander who was already looking at him like he expected the worst.

"So," he started, "I'm guessing he wasn't asking for the Lakers scores."

Spike sighed, not eager to address the largest figurative elephant in the room where their relationship was concerned.

"Look, there's a bloody lot of demons gunning for me right now, and not a single one of them knows what to make of you. Half of them want to make you into some kind of example, and hell knows Alvaro's been damned understanding of the situation but I bloody _hate_ pulling these fuckers off you who can't tell who you bloody well belong to!"

Xander looked gobsmacked. "Spike—"

"—I don't want to force you into making this kind of decision. Forever is a long time an' I don't want to do anything that's going to put you at odds with your mates—know how much they bloody mean to ya—and I'm not going to do anything until you're ready for Rupert and your folks an' all to know about us. M'not gonna see you tear yourself apart like that—"

"—Spike!"

Spike didn't know when his fist had embedded itself in the side of the crypt, but the pain had yet to register when Xander stared at him in horror, cradling his broken hand, face filled with horror.

"Christ, Xan, I'm a demon. Don't know what the fuck I'm doing here, do I? Love you so goddamn much—"

"—Spike would you shut the hell up for a second? Yes! Okay? Yes!" Xander's eyes were wide and shocked but he laughed, then frowned as he gently brushed gravel from his knuckles.

"Yes?" he asked stupidly. Xander rolled his eyes.

"Yes, dammit, I'll be your Consort. You can claim me, but Jesus, Spike, you didn't have to put your fist through solid granite to prove your point."

Spike shook his head, not wanting to hope only to be disappointed.

"Mine…you'll be mine? Forever?"

Xander kissed his abused hand.

"No take-backsies."

Spike's good hand wound itself in Xander's hair and brought their lips crashing together, kissing him with everything in him until Xander pulled back gasping.

Spike couldn't help grinning like a fool. "You really mean it, love?"

Xander smiled tiredly. "I'm pretty sure I'm getting the better end of the deal here. I mean, you've witnessed my parent's marriage, and I've got a string of ex's more than willing to give testimony to my many, many failings in the relationship department, but for what it's worth, I don't want us to end. Every day with you excites me. I feel more myself around you than anyone else, you bring out pieces of me I didn't know existed or forgot were ever there. You're the most generous lover, and the most devoted friend I've ever had. I'm scared, yeah, I'm not going to lie. But I want this. I want _you_. Forever."

Spike knocked the wind out of Xander with the ferocity with which he wrapped himself around him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He held on to Xander tightly as he tried not to cry like a big girls blouse. When he felt he had himself under control, he released the boy and kissed him, nearly missing Xander's lips for the trembling he was doing.

"You ready to tell the gang, love?" he asked, hesitantly, hopefully. Xander smiled.

"When we get back to the Magic Box, yeah. Let's do it."

Spike let out a triumphant whoop of joy, daringly allowing himself to wonder if maybe his luck wasn't turning around at long last.

* * *

  
He really should have known it couldn't last. Within ten minutes of arriving back at the shop the whole effort went pear-shaped.

"Ah, Buffy, I see you were successful," came the Watcher's voice as they filed through the door.

"Yeah, I managed to remove it's head while Spike distracted it with his conversational skills."

"Spike speaks Grathnr'ak?"

"I'm right here, Watcher," Spike bit off huffily.

"Right, well, very good work everyone. And Buffy, do be sure you clean that blade before you put it away. The ichor is corrosive."

The Watcher turned his back and began heading towards his office as the bell above the door announced the arrival of the witches.

"Okay if we head back, Giles?" Willow called. Spike heard Xander's pulse jump and smelled the anxiety pouring off him in waves before he called out to the others.

"Um, guys actually if you could stick around for a second, I've got something I want to tell you all."

Giles turned in the doorway with a puzzled expression.

"Certainly, Xander, what is it?"

The Slayer and Red shared a look and Spike was pleased to see them taking positions on either side of the boy, shoring up his confidence a bit. As much as he wanted to take him in his arms and be done with it, he understood the need for delicacy. Watcher might try something foolish like dusting him, and he'd be hard pressed to see Xander consenting to the consort bond if he had to kill the boy's father figure.

"First off, Giles, I—I think you should know that Spike and I are um, well, we're together."

The Watcher's face was inscrutable.

"Yes, I did manage to surmise as much for myself, not being entirely stupid."

The coolness in his voice was Spike's first indication that things were not going entirely as they'd hoped. Xander, bless his brave heart, forged on ahead regardless.

"O—okay, well then, um, everyone, I guess you should know that I'm going to become Spike's Consort."

Willow gasped and Buffy squeezed Xander's hand.

"You're really going to do it?" she asked. "You're sure this is what you want?"

"Oh, Xander," Willow began, tearfully.

"Yeah, yeah, we really are," Xan told them. He turned to Spike and reached out a hand for him to take. He hesitated, following Tara's gaze to the Watcher's rigid stance and cold eyes, before resolving himself to give Xander every bit of support he could offer now the cat was out of the bag and seemed bloody unlikely to get back in. Xander drew him into a loose, one-armed embrace. "It's the right time. I'm a target without Spike's claim and he has enough to worry about without having to rescue me from every Tom, Dick and Grathma'czk that we meet on patrol."

"Is _that_ what that was about tonight?" Buffy asked. Spike nodded.

"What about _you_ Xander—I mean, you're talking about well, probably not immortality, cause, let's face it, that's pretty hard to come by even if you're…but a _really_ long time! You could outlive us all. Are you okay with that?" Willow asked.

Spike's stomach clenched as he waited for Xander's response. Forever _was_ a bloody long time, especially for a bloke with mortal friends and family. Xander likely picked up on his tension—the boy held him a bit tighter as he replied.

"Yeah, Wills, I'm okay with that. I mean, not to get morbid or anything, but there's always been a pretty good chance of us burying one another. We've lost friends before, and I—I can't say I'm a big fan of it. Never really figured myself to be the one sticking around, what with the total lack of superpowers, either, but I'm not going to turn down a long life. And if I can stay strong enough, long enough, to keep on protecting the people I love, I think I can handle, that, yeah."

Red threw her arms around Xander's neck and pecked his cheek before Spike found himself an armful of witch a moment later. When Willow released him, he looked over at the Slayer to see if she intended to throw herself at him similarly. She smirked at him and he couldn't help a wry smile. How he'd ever imagined himself in love with that girl was an utter mystery to him anymore. Her goodness was a luminous, bright-shining thing that both attracted and repelled. Like one of those bug zappers, if he really thought about it. Fascinating sure, but nothing you want to get too close to. Not like his Xan, so warm and sweet and bloody perceptive. Good, through and through, but compassionate in ways the Slayer just wasn't wired to be—and a bit of a pragmatist, something Spike could appreciate. _Had_ to appreciate. Doubt they would have gotten very far if he'd been clinging to the Watcher's notions of good an' evil. Speaking of—

"You foolish, foolish boy."

"Giles?" Xander's voice shook a little.

"I can not believe you would be so stupid as to agree to something like this. I thought you, of all people, would place more value on your soul than the satisfaction of your libido."

Spike growled.

"You're out of order, mate," he warned.

"I don't believe I can tolerate your influence here any longer." His voice was cold. Hollow. Xan was starting to break, Spike could feel it. "Get out."

"Now Watcher, just—"

"You are _no longer welcome_ in this shop. Leave now!" Spike tensed, not wanting to add fuel to the fire, but supremely brassed at the heavy-handed way he was breaking his boy's heart. Xander answered for him.

"Giles, if he goes so do I."

The Watcher polished his glasses and said nothing. The pain that shone from Xander's eyes made him long to rend flesh and feel bones breaking in his hands. He shook with the effort of reigning in the impulse to kill as warning twinges from the chip fired white-hot bursts of agony along his spine.

"Giles that is way harsh," said Buffy, voice cracking.

"Xander—" said Willow. As quickly as Xander's broken expression had appeared, it was gone, replaced by that too-cheerful smile he got whenever he'd heard his parents fighting louder than usual above their heads back in the basement days.

"It's fine girls. We'll talk later." With one last glance at the Watcher steadfastly refusing to look him in they eye—and Spike scoffed in disgust at _that_ cowardly little display—Xander turned and left, a protective hand on Spike's back that kept him close to Xander's side.

Outside the shop, just out of view of the window, the ragged breaths started to come.

"Xander—" he inquired softly.

"I'm fine Spike, just let it go."

"Xan—

"I'M FINE!" He snapped, before collapsing into harsh sobs, barely waiting until he was borne up by Spike's arms before he fell to his knees on the sidewalk. His heart broke for his love, screwing his eyes tight against sympathetic tears as Xander cried. He heard the clicking of heeled boots running up the walk before he felt two sets of arms encircling them tightly. Xander cried harder, the Watcher's rejection having broken something fragile in the boy.

"Oh, Xander, I'm so sorry," Willow cried.

"I can't believe he did that," Buffy said sadly. "He loves you Xander, I know he does," she soothed.

Xander pulled back and wiped his eyes on his sleeve before getting to his feet. Spike watched him square his shoulders and choke back the last few reflexive tears.

"Thanks guys, but I really think I just need to go home right now," he said. "Can we just go home?" Xander asked him pitifully. It looked like he was about three steps from locking himself in their room and never coming out again if it meant never having to face anyone else's disapproval. Spike sighed. Knowing what was necessary didn't make him like it any little bit more.

"Yeah, Xan, we can go home. Slayer, you an' Soldier boy pick up the Bit on your way over and Red, you and Glinda bring the videos."

Buffy smiled sadly but Willow's face lit up.

"We're on it. You can count on us!" She declared brightly. "Come on sweetie," She said, taking Tara by the hand as the woman who had stood by quietly as her lover comforted her oldest friend gave Spike a sympathetic look. He smirked in response. She was another one who was too perceptive by half, he reckoned.

"Spike, I don't know—" Xander began. Spike interrupted him.

"Love, I don't reckon you feel much like a party tonight, but I do know you need your family now—need to know you're not alone no matter what that tosspot in there thinks."

Xander didn't say anything, just folded himself around Spike and kissed the side of his neck. The walk back to the car was silent.

* * *

  
Spike woke around three the next afternoon with a coating of stale cigarettes and Jack in his mouth and a bitch of a headache. He hadn't meant to tempt the boy with the bottle last night, but he caught the longing looks as he drank his fifth of Jack, and resolved to polish it off before the boy could get any stupid ideas about following in the family way—which inevitably led to finishing everything in the liquor cabinet while the boy and his friends demolished several pints of ice cream and didn't watch whatever rubbish had been on the telly in their room. It chafed to let outsiders into their private space, but before he'd passed out his boy looked a little less lost, which, he supposed, made the sacrifice worthwhile.

The front door opened and closed and he tried to lever himself up to sitting before Xander could witness his hangover. He'd managed one elbow under him when the bedroom door opened.

"Hey," Xander said softly, blessedly mindful of his state.

Spike grunted in response and caught Xander's smirk out of the corner of his eye.

"Enjoy drinking the entire bar last night?"

At that reminder Spike dropped back to the bed and moaned, throwing a pillow at his smug bastard of a lover's head. Xander caught it and sat beside him, taking off his shoes and lying beside him, wrapping a lock of Spike's hair around his finger.

"Buffy called on my break. They're narrowing down the search for whoever's messing with portals and they think they have a lead on a pattern. She's going to try and intercept one tonight."

Spike heard the question in his statement.

"You going?"

Xander looked away.

"I want to, yeah. Buffy—well, she said maybe to just meet at the cemetery. Give Giles a chance to get used to the idea."

Spike saw the wisdom in that. He leaned in to kiss Xander, only to have him turn his head at the last minute.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," Xander said, rolling off the bed and onto his feet.

"Want some company?" Spike asked, confused and more than a little hurt. Xander didn't meet his eye as he stripped down.

"No, thanks, I got this. You should probably get dressed, though. We're going to have to meet the others pretty soon."

Spike shoved down the feelings of rejection and bit back the sharp words on his tongue.

"Sure, love." Without looking back, Xander closed the bedroom door.

Angrily throwing back the bedclothes, Spike promised himself retribution against the man who'd caused Xander to pull away from him in shame.

* * *

  
Xander remained aloof throughout that night's patrol. Every time Spike came near, Xander moved away as if magnetically repelled. Spike would reach for his hand, and Xander would accept it loosely for a moment before dropping his hand and shoving his in his pocket. He felt his boy slipping away from him and longed for some vamp or demon to vent his rage and frustration on. With the others, the boy chatted cheerfully enough, keeping up his usual banter with Buffy and Willow, but he refused to meet Spike's eyes and never exchanged more than a few perfunctory words.

An hour in, Spike had worked himself up into a good sulk, deservedly so, he though, and had been playing and replaying his many injuries in his mind when he suddenly realized he hadn't heard the other's voices for some time. Looking around, he saw a point of light near one of the smaller tombs. The others had stopped and were regarding it cautiously.

As they watched, the point swirled and expanded in bursts of pink, blue and white light.

"Expecting company, Slayer?" He asked.

Creeping forward slightly, Buffy raised her hand to stay the others, before raising her axe.

"I don't suppose anyone has any idea what's going to come out of that thing?" Xander asked Willow.

She shook her head. "Infinite dimensions, infinite possibilities."

Spike heard the whelp's heart rate speed up.

Just then, the vortex spit out a bright burst of light that temporarily blinded everyone. Willow shrieked and there was a sound of a body hitting grass.

"Xander!" He called out.

"Right here," came Xander's voice beside him.

"_What_ the…" Buffy began. Spike blinked. As the bright dots in his vision began to fade, he saw Buffy lower her axe and a small, pale form on the grass beneath her. It looked human, shrouded in ruffles, but the shape seemed familiar somehow. He took several steps towards it, pushing the Slayer to one side, and fell to his knees as recognition dawned, lifting the unconscious body and cradling it against him.

"_Mother_?"


	2. Chapter 2

Spike was vaguely aware of the chaos that erupted with his pronouncement, but felt largely detached from it all while he struggled to wrap his brain around the sudden appearance of his mother five thousand miles and a hundred and twenty years from where he left her.

The scent of camphor and rosewater was like coming home. But beneath that, he felt like he was being smothered by a blanket woven with candy floss. Cloying and oppressively sweet. He wasn't sure if that was the demon in him or not, and he stubbornly refused to listen to the oily whispers in the back of his mind that he'd felt the obligation of her unconditional love like a noose around his neck _long_ before the demon came to roost. He carried her bodily the entire distance home, the others following close behind, their exclamations of confusion and concern like the buzzing of flies in his ears. Even now, the evil he'd done was no sure talisman against mother's pervasive goodness. It felt infectious, like an insidious disease. The desire to please her, to protect her overwhelmed his senses. The compulsion to make her a part of his world. To make her in his own image…strong…eternal…

Spike shook off that notion with a frision of fear, looking around to see if he'd given himself away to the others. Angelus always said the impulse to make childer was powerful and inexplicable. A hindbrain instinct leftover from the days when demon tribes roamed the earth. Kill the weak and incorporate the strong. Strengthen the Master's line.

Alvaro met them at the door and Xander began shouting instructions as the witches and slayer continued to bombard Spike with questions he didn't bother trying to answer.

"Alvaro get the bed turned down and get some tea made!"

"Why is she wheezing?"

"How did she get here? Did you know she was coming out of there?"

"She's so pale, is she sick?"

"Did you do this Spike?"

Then Xander was at his side as if the distance between them that evening had only been a bad dream—his warm hand guiding him to the spare bedroom where Alvaro hovered anxiously over the prepared bed. Spike laid his mother down gently and all but fell into the chair his minion slipped beneath him as his lover reflexively kneaded his shoulders and muttered comfort to him.

What would he say to her when she woke? How would he explain…_everything_? How _could_ he? Was she even the same woman he'd known before?

When a soft moan issued from the frail woman, Spike leapt to his feet, nearly knocking over the chair and Xander in the process, before bolting from the room, Xander close on his heels.

"Spike, what the hell is the matter?" Xander asked.

"I—I can't let her see me like this!" Spike hissed.

"Like _what_?"

Spike gestured to his tee-shirt clad, boot-wearing, denim and leather covered self.

"The hair is bad enough—what if she doesn't recognize me?"

Xander place a hand on his shoulder and began propelling him towards their bedroom.

"So we'll just tone it down a little bit. You can borrow one of my shirts—"

Spike grimaced.

"No offense love, but I don't think—"

Xander sighed in irritation.

"One of my _work_ shirts, Spike, I'm not ready to see you in Hawaiian print when I've worked so hard to burn that image from my mind."

"Ha bloody ha, Xan."

Twenty minutes and three costume changes later, Spike emerged to the sound of feminine giggles.

"It's too much. The suit is too much, I _told_ you!" Spike moaned. Xander made a noise that was a close cousin of a growl as he tucked his shirt into his khakis.

"Yeah, well you looked like a kid playing dress up in my clothes. It's _fine_, Spike. This is your mother in our guest room, not Joan Rivers on the red carpet."

How was he supposed to explain to Xander that his clothes were his armor shielding him from the awkward, rejected poet that even now was clawing its way up from inside him?

A closer look at the girls outside the bedroom door distracted him from arguing the point further.

"You're not going in there like _that_!"

The minute the words were out of his mouth he longed to take them back, but the fact remained that he couldn't look at their bare arms and midriffs without seeing scandal on the face of his dear mother.

"I got this cami at Barneys!" Buffy deliberately misunderstood.

"For god's sake, that's my _mother_ in there, would you cover yourselves?"

Spike had left self-consciousness far behind and was rapidly approaching apoplexy.

"Well excuse me, Victor Victorian! I left my corset in my repressed pants," Buffy snapped.

"Lesbian. Don't look at me." Willow added before he could comment on her attire.

"Do _I_ pass muster?" Xander asked, obviously amused. Clenching his fists to avoid wringing his hands Spike gave his lover a once over.

"No, you can't go in there in shirtsleeves. Put a jacket on."

"Okay…" The boy humored him, marching off to their bedroom.

"I—I have a sweater, is that all right?" Tara asked sensitively.

"Yes, yes, you'll do. The rest of you can wait in the hall," he decided.

"Oh no _way_ am I missing _this_!" Buffy protested.

"_Slayer_…" He warned.

"Buffy, maybe it would be better to give Spike a moment alone with his mother first." Willow suggested diplomatically.

"I agree," added Xander quietly, emerging from their room with his brown suede jacket over his arm.

Buffy huffed, but gestured to the door. "Fine."

Spike rolled his eyes at her childishness before straightening his spine and deliberately slipping on the mantle of _William_, terrified and praying all the while to whoever was listening that he wouldn't drown within him.

* * *

  
"Mother?"

"William? Is that you?"

The recognition in her voice called to him, soothed and frightened him as he felt himself slip softly into the act that was no longer an act. He loved her, and, hell save him, always would. He stopped fighting.

"Y—yes mother, I'm here." He said excitedly, taking the seat at her bedside once again. She struggled to prop herself up and Spike carefully helped her to sit, propping a pillow behind her back.

"I've been so worried…" She began, and his heart clenched.

"It's all right, mother. I'm here now."

She let out a deep breath as she settled back into the bed. No longer out of breath, her vision seemed to clear and Spike could tell from her expression exactly when she realized how changed he was.

"William, you look so different!" She exclaimed, then as if the thought had only just occurred to her, "I'm not—that is to say—I haven't—"

Spike couldn't help smiling. Even faced with the possibility of her own mortality she couldn't help trying not to offend.

"No, mother, you're very much alive. Can you tell me what you last remember?"

His mother got a look of extreme concentration on her face as she endeavored to recollect the events leading to her mysterious appearance.

"There was light. And a—a man? I was frightened, but then, I thought he might be an angel and I—" She interrupted herself, suddenly seeming ashamed of her readiness to die. Her pain was no secret to her son, despite her every effort to conceal her weakness and infirmity from him.

"It's all right, mother. You passed through a kind of door—only this door didn't connect rooms, but points in time. Do you see?"

He watched as she turned that bit of information over.

"I've—I'm in another time?" Spike smiled broadly, glad she picked up on the implication.

"Yes mother. But don't be frightened, I'm here with you." And if she assumed that he'd been taken through a portal himself, then he felt no need to make her the wiser.

"Where—when _are_ we?" she asked.

"It is the year Two-thousand and one, and we are currently in the United States. California, actually," he told her.

Anne gasped and began to cough, looking for the handkerchief that was likely lost in the nineteenth century. Spike handed her a tissue.

"Rest now, mother. You're in no danger and I'll gladly tell you anything you'd like to know when you wake. You mustn't tax yourself."

Anne nodded and sank back into the pillows.

"I'm glad you're here, William. I would be so very lost without you, I'm afraid."

"Sleep, mother. I'll be here when you wake."

* * *

  
The others looked up in expectation as Spike closed the bedroom door as quietly as he could.

"Right. She's ill. Needs medicine, yeah? What can we get?"

"Without an appointment? Not much," Xander told him grimly.

"Don't think we're going to get her past a doctor without a lot of questions she's not going to be able to answer. I was thinking more about borrowing from the clinic. Needs her shots an' something for TB. Think you can get us what we need, Red?" Spike asked.

"Um, well the shots shouldn't be a problem. But tuberculosis isn't exactly common anymore. We'd probably have to go to a pharmacy or even Sunnydale General to get stuff for that."

"Right. Xan, you an' Red take the Slayer and get the goods. I'll send Alvaro to get some things for her—make her more comfortable."

Buffy looked from Xander to Willow then back to Spike.

"And while we're breaking and entering and schlepping, what exactly are you going to be doing?"

Spike glanced back at the bedroom and didn't meet their eyes as he replied quietly.

"M'not leaving her. Not again."

Not looking up, he missed Buffy's sympathetic look.

"Sure thing, Oedipus. Come on guys, let's get this over with," she jabbed, trying to restore a sense of normalcy to the proceedings.

"You sure you're all right here?" Xander, called over his shoulder as Buffy dragged him down the hall. Spike smirked.

"Got Alvaro and Glinda here. I'll be fine. Need you there to make sure the others don't bung things up." Xander smiled knowingly.

"You want me to take the drugs and run if the cops come, you mean."

Spike grinned.

"See? Knew I could count on you."

* * *

  
After the others left, Spike sent Alvaro in to sit with his mother and went downstairs to make the witch a cup of tea.

"S—so, is she really your mother?" Tara asked boldly.

Spike nodded.

"Near as I can tell, at any rate."

"I could do a spell and check to be sure," she offered. Spike smiled.

"That'd be right nice of you, ducks."

Several minutes later they relieved Alvaro's position at Spike's mother's bedside and Tara applied a drop of an oily, herbal smelling unction to the woman's hand.

"_Safech monopati_," she whispered. The spot of oil glowed green for a moment, then faded into nothing. Tara turned back to Spike and smiled.

"It's her, then?" He asked. Tara nodded.

"This is her proper dimension, she's just displaced in the time line."

Relieved, he pulled Tara into a bone-crushing hug before bestowing a gentle kiss on his mother's forehead. Tara squeaked in surprise but didn't protest. Once Alvaro was reinstalled on watch, Spike led Tara back to the kitchen and poured two more cups for them.

"What's it like?" She asked softly, blowing lightly over her teacup.

"Hmm? What's what like?"

"Having her back."

If he hadn't been looking up at that moment he would have missed the wistful expression on her face entirely, the quiet timbre of her voice not betraying anything other than casual interest, and Spike was reminded of the day her da and brother came to visit.

"S'right, I forgot, you lost your mum, didn't you?"

Tara blushed and looked down. Spike internally debated how much to tell her. Xander should really have had the privilege of that deep, dark secret first, but he thought the boy would likely forgive him offering a bit of comfort to the girl. Plus, there was just something about the witch that seemed to invite confidences, and right then, Spike felt like unburdening himself.

"It's a relief," he told her, waiting until he had her attention. Her head cocked in confusion, willing him to continue. "You believe in a hereafter, Glinda?"

Tara nodded, swallowing.

"M—my mother told me, before she…before she died that she'd had visions. That she was g—going to a…a good place."

Spike smiled at her encouragingly and she returned it.

"Thing is, ducks, if anyone deserved that, it was my mum. She was a good lady. I was only a nipper when my da died, an' she took care of both of us on her own. Course, she couldn't work back then, so all we had were the two hundred pounds a year from the estate. We were hungry some of the time but you'd never admit it back then. Still, she'd always slip me food from her plate when I'd been away at school and she knew I'd not been eating properly."

Tara's expression brightened. Spike chuckled and shook his head.

"An' yeah, that's why I still eat human food, even though I don't necessarily have to. Not often, mind, but every once an' a while when I find myself wishing I could go out in the daylight or trying to remember what it felt like to have a heartbeat."

"As God as my witness, I'll never go hungry again?"

Spike laughed.

"Yeah, that's it exactly. Anyway, she was generous. Kind. An' she put up with my god-awful poems."

"She sounds wonderful."

Spike nodded. His voice, when he spoke, sounded bitter even to his own ears.

"So wonderful the first thing I did after getting vamped was turn her."

Tara gasped.

"She was sick, only there wasn't anything I could do for her but watch her drown slowly in her own blood. I thought, I could turn her and she'd be better. Be healed. But it didn't work."

"She didn't rise?"

"Oh, she rose alright. I don't know why I turned out the way I did, but whatever Dru did didn't happen that time. My mother was gone, and th—the demon that took over—"

"It wasn't her."

"No. It wasn't. I—I had to stake her. I loved her, and I turned her, and I sent her to hell."

Tara looked thoughtful.

"And your mother…upstairs…" She trailed off.

Spike thought back to his conversation with his mother.

"I think whatever brought her here took her just before I would have turned her."

"A second chance," Tara observed.

Spike reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and rested his hand on her shoulder.

"One your mum didn't need. Maybe this time she'll have a chance, yeah?"

Tara nodded understandingly.

"D—do you mind telling me about her?" She asked.

Surprised, touched and feeling as though a weight had lifted from his chest, he gladly began to recount his favorite memories of his mother.

"Don't mind a bit. Now see, there was this one time my mum went to hear a debate between Gladstone and Disraeli…"

* * *

  
Spike was reading by his mother's bed though he'd hardly taken in a word on the page since the others had left. It wasn't guilt, he told himself. Vamps don't do guilt. And regret was the sole domain of humans and souled up poofs. It was…balancing the cosmic scales that he'd weighted unevenly. Why, who knows how that sort of thing might come back to bight him in the arse later? It was purely a matter of self-interest he told himself as he listened to her labored breathing. When he heard the front door open and shut. Xander's voice rang up through the floorboards.

"Honey, I'm home! And I bring yummy, yummy pharmaceuticals!"

Spike smirked and set his book on his seat, marking the place and checking to make sure his mother still slept before exiting the room and bounding down the stairs to meet Xander. He found him in the kitchen, unloading bottles and vials from a small black bag.

"Cheers, love, what 'av we got?"

With a grand flourish of his hand, and a terrible French accent, Xander gestured to the loot.

"For Madame, an apéritif of Rifater and Myambutol to chase those nasty lung bacterium away. A DPT vaccine with a polio chaser for the main course, a tetanus palate cleanser, and for desert, mumps and rubella vaccines, since I suspect Madame has already had the measles?"

Spike nodded, pleased .

"When she was seven."

Xander bowed deeply.

"Very good sir."

Spike shuffled nervously from foot to foot as Xander finished unpacking the medical supplies, chattering all the while about god knows what. Finally he just blurted out.

"Look, Xan, I don't know how to tell mother about us, so I'm not going to."

Xander's jaw dropped mid sentence.

"It's like with your da, yeah?" Spike willed him to understand. "Different time an' all that—only back then buggering was a criminal offense. M'not telling her I'm a vamp neither."

Xander sputtered helplessly and braced himself on the counter.

"Oh, an' if it comes up, Red an' Glinda aren't shagging an' Joyce is a widow. Probably best not to mention demon slaying at all, yeah?"

Xander stared in shock and Spike winced at his crestfallen expression.

"Are you throwing me out?" Xander asked in a small voice.

"No!" Spike shouted, calling himself all kinds of fool for not having known that's how Xan would have taken it. Spike reached for his hand across the island and squeezed it tightly. "Course not, love. She won't go in our room—be too impolite. We'll just be—roommates is all. Like Holmes and Watson!" He added cheerily.

Xander's lip quirked a little, not completely giving in to the urge to smile and Spike just _knew_ the boy was going to milk this for all it was worth.

"Fine, but I get to be Jeremy Brett."

Spike snorted.

"Excuse me? Which one of us actually speaks the King's English?"

"I'm taller."

Xander had a mad-on to watch Sherlock Holmes after that and spent an hour tracking down Willow to borrow her box set of videos, despite Spike's loud protests that "You could just read the bloody books, you know. The ones in the bookcase? The ones _you bought_?"

Xander just laughed and popped the first tape into the VCR.

Spike rolled his eyes and shrugged on his duster. Xander looked up from the bed.

"You hate the BBC that much?"

Spike smirked.

"I'm going around to the Magic Box. Need someone to administer the vaccines."

Xander sat up, white as a sheet.

"Are you sure—"

Spike held up his hands, his universal sign for _don't get your knickers in a twist_. Xander sighed huffily and lay back down.

"Don't fancy giving mother the bends on top of everything, an' even a stone cold bastard like him isn't going to refuse medical help to an innocent human," Spike explained calmly, patting his pockets for his lighter.

"On the dresser," Xander supplied without missing a beat.

"Ta, love," he said, grabbing the Zippo off the change tray. "Don't worry, he'll be in, and out of our hair before you know it. Won't even have to see him if you don't want."

Xander sighed.

"Would it be weird if I said that's what I'm afraid of?"

"Wot, preferin' someone's yelling an' disapproval to bein' ignored?" Spike smirked. "No idea what you're talking about."

Xander smiled knowingly and Spike had to lean over and kiss him, ruffling his hair before he stood and made to leave.

"Be back in a few, love," he said, and hoped that the adventures of The Ponce In The Bloody Stupid Hat would be enough to distract his boy from his problems for a few hours.

* * *

  
"Watcher, you in?" Spike called into the shop. The man emerged from the back office with a crossbow pointed at his heart. _Nice_, Spike scoffed inwardly.

"I thought I told you not to come back here."

Spike held his hands open and spoke in tones more commonly used to calm rabid dogs and screaming children.

"Fine by me. Need you to come by the house and see to my mum."

Confusion, closely followed by incredulity chased across the Watcher's face as the crossbow sagged in his grip.

"You're coming to me for _help_?"

Spike allowed a little of his disdain to show through.

"For how you treated Xan? I wouldn't let the boy piss on you if your hair was on fire, but I can't exactly take her to hospital, now can I?"

The crossbow was immediately raised to attention once again. Spike rolled his eyes. The back and forth was getting old.

"I can't imagine what business you think you have asking—" Giles spat.

"It's my bleedin' mum, Watcher." Spike was through playing silly buggers and wanted to get this mess over and done with. "Warm, kind, human…surely even you had one of those, or is the Council hatching your type nowadays to breed even _that_ little bit of humanity out of you?"

The Watcher's face puckered as he suckled on that bit of bitter truth. Spike went for the kill.

"It's TB. She needs shots, and from what the Slayer's told me you're pretty handy with a syringe, or is that skill something you save only for betraying the pathetic sods that love you?"

Oddly, he never saw the crossbow fall before the Watcher's fist connected with his jaw with a sharp crack. Spike moved it experimentally and glared at Giles.

"You can thrash me all you like—so long as you help her," Spike said wearily.

Rupert snorted.

"Are you quite certain you want me to take you up on that offer?"

"Watcher…" Spike growled. The man picked the crossbow up from the floor and turned his back to Spike, setting the weapon on the cash-wrap.

"I'll be by at nine o'clock. I assume you're not telling her you're a vampire?"

"S'right," Spike replied, uncertain when exactly he'd won this particular argument. He hoped he wouldn't have to make good on his offer to be the Watcher's punching bag.

"Very well then. I believe our business is concluded here and you are free to leave."

Spike growled, annoyed at his casual dismissal, but turned and left the shop gratefully, no longer certain the chip and Xander would be enough to prevent him doing serious damage to the Watcher if he was continually required to suffer his presence in the future.


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh yeah, right there…"

"Xander…"

"Fuck, yes!"

"Shh…"

Xander stilled his movements.

"Did you just shush me?"

Spike froze and looked heavenward for a workable defense. None was forthcoming. _God, this is a bloody nightmare,_ he thought.

"Oh my god, you did!" Xander yelled, angrily. Spike reached out to him but Xander was already off the bed and pulling on his pants. Spike sighed, flopped onto the bed and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"Xander, stop. Come back to bed."

"I don't believe this," he huffed. "You said this wasn't going to be a problem!"

"It's _not_, just don't want her hearing all that, s'all."

"She's across the house, for God's sake, _in another room_!"

"Another _room_, not another bleedin' county, Xan."

"You were _egging me on_ to talk dirty!"

"Yeah, well, my knees were around my ears at the time. Couldn't hear how loud you were being."

Xander's jaw opened and closed soundlessly. Spike knew he'd gone too far. But he'd rather have a good row than confront the fact that _he_, William the Bloody, whose everyday vernacular had been known to make longshoremen squeemish, had just called out his lover for being too loud in bed.

The bedroom door slamming wasn't unexpected, but Spike thought stomping down the stairs more loudly than usual was uncalled for.

"Childish git," he muttered darkly. "S'not like he'd do any different if we were back in that basement." But then he remembered that it had been in Xander's parents' basement that he'd entertained Anya all last year, and from all accounts, there had been very little restraint involved that didn't involve actual restraints.

"Master, your mother is asking for you," came Alvaro's voice through the bedroom door.

"Be right there," he answered back, waiting for the sound of his footfalls to hit the stairs before burying his face in Xander's pillow and screaming.

* * *

  
"William is everything all right? I thought I heard shouting," Anne asked.

Spike wanted to hurl Xander's collectors' plates against the wall but settled for picking them up and rearranging them on the dresser. Forcefully.

"Everything's fine, mother."

"Whose voice did I hear? Are we not alone here?"

Spike sat down wearily and took his mother's hand.

"Mother, as you must have surmised by now, I have been here a good deal longer than you. By my estimation, what has been a matter of days to you, has been nearly two years for me."

Anne's eyes widened.

"Two years? My dear boy, however have you managed?"

Spike smoothed a crease in the matelassé coverlet. _Killing and maiming, mostly. Got de-clawed by the American government, but I was able to turn it around by working for the Slayer and her minions, one of whom I'm planning on making my Consort. He's a bloke, by the way, did I mention that?_

"I've made the acquaintance of a group of people not unfamiliar with the phenomenon who helped me to acclimate myself," he replied carefully. "The voice you heard was that of Mr. Harris, who owns this house. You may have seen his manservant, Alvaro, from time to time."

"Is he the native fellow, then? I had wondered if I had simply imagined him."

Spike patted her hand. "No mother, I instructed him to look in on you in my absence. I hope you didn't mind?"

Anne smiled wryly. "William, disoriented as I may be, I don't think I require constant supervision," she gently chided.

Spike released her hand and began pacing.

"Mother, I could barely live with myself for having left you without any explanation of my going. Knowing you were alone—" _Knowing I'd damned you—_

"Hush, William, you're so sensitive," she quietly interrupted. "You're here now, that's all that matters," she soothed. "This Mr. Harris must be quite a generous man to have taken us both in—or have you found employment here?" She fished, changing the subject.

"A little of both, actually," Spike hedged. "I don't pay rent as such but I do consult on various projects from time to time. Actually, you'll be meeting one of their group later on. I've asked Mr. Giles to see you this evening."

"Is he a doctor?" She asked, warily.

_Ha!_

"Not as such, though he has had medical training. Mother," Spike sat beside her once again and clasped her hand, genuinely excited, "We can cure you."

Anne's eyes widened.

"A cure?" She repeated dubiously.

Spike nodded. "No alcohol or laudanum. Just two small pills taken daily for two months."

"William, that's…extraordinary!" She exclaimed.

Spike nodded, pleased. "I've asked Mr. Giles to give you several vaccinations while he's here as well…"

Anne blanched. "Vaccinations? Several?"

"Oh! No, mother, this will be nothing like Cousin Elizabeth's smallpox vaccination. He'll have three or four syringes with very thin, very small needles you'll hardly feel."

_God, I'd forgotten about that damn butcher job—_

Anne looked skeptical.

"Whatever for?" she asked.

"The first will inoculate you against lockjaw, whooping cough and diphtheria. You'll also receive vaccinations against German measles, mumps and polio. You'll need several courses of some of them and probably something for influenza and pneumonia later on."

"Good heavens, are there no maladies left at all?" She asked, shocked.

Spike laughed. "Quite a few, in fact, but none you'll likely need worry about, unless you've planned a trip to darkest Africa you've neglected to mention until now."

Anne laughed prettily.

The doorbell rang then and Spike stood. "That's probably Mr. Giles now. Shall I show him in?"

Anne nodded. "I must look a fright but I'm sure there's nothing to be done for it."

Spike bent and placed a kiss on his mother's forehead.

"You look beautiful mother." Spike turned to go. "I'll return in a moment."

"William," her voice catching him with his hand on the doorknob, "Your lips are very cold, are you feeling well?"

Spike steadied himself on the doorjamb.

"Just fine, Mother."

* * *

  
A distinctive scraping noise came from the cellar door that told Spike Xander would be occupied while the Watcher was present. He wanted to offer him comfort and reassurance, but doubted Xander would accept it while whittling stakes he was undoubtedly fantasizing about introducing to Spike's chest.

His greeting to Rupert was perfunctory and unreciprocated, but his mind was too occupied by thoughts of Xander to call him on his rudeness. He hated that he hurt him. _And a part of you hates that you hated it,_ he thought as he led Giles to his mother's door. Obviously Mother hadn't heard much beyond some indistinct shouting.

Maybe he'd been out of line, after all.

"I'm afraid I've been rather prone to side-effects of the laudanum…"

Spike looked up and realized he'd missed the introductions and his mother's entrée into conversation. The Watcher smirked when he saw Spike realize his gaff.

"Ah, yes. Pratt, here, was good enough to give me some of your medical history, isn't that right, Pratt?"

"Oh, that's mature," Spike muttered under his breath. Giles ignored him and assisted Anne in rolling the sleeve of her nightgown past her elbow.

"Now this may sting a little. The tetanus vaccine must go into a muscle I'm afraid and it will likely be sore for a little while. You shouldn't have any adverse reactions to the others. Have you taken the pills yet?"

"Not yet."

"Be sure you abstain from alcohol when you do. One of the medications carries a risk of hepatitis."

"Y—yes, of course," she said, obviously not understanding but trying to be agreeable.

"It's an illness of the liver, Mother," he explained, glaring at Rupert as she winced under the needle prick.

While Anne seemed supremely composed for the remainder of the vaccinations and much at ease with the Watcher's bedside manner, Spike found the petty remarks directed toward himself and his cool demeanor with his mother galling. And not only because he'd yet to meet the man who could remain unaffected by his mother's warmth, but he couldn't recall seeing the Watcher acting this fractured since Spike sent the lot of the Scoobies up the river to meet Adam. Something was seriously wrong with the man and—_purely for Xander's sake_—Spike was pained to admit he was growing concerned.

* * *

  
The cellar doors opened with a protesting squeal and Willow's head dropped into sight.

"Xander? Are you down here?"

Xander looked up from the pile of wood shavings that used to be broken staffs, axe handles and the occasional tree branch—which then became workable stakes—at least until Xander found he couldn't quite stop his compulsive whittling and all that remained were a two foot pile of shavings and some fine, handcrafted toothpicks. Xander looked down at his raw reddened hands in disgust and snorted.

"Yeah, Wills, I'm over here," he called to her, getting up to grab a broom and sweeping the pile into the corner.

"Yikes. Bad day?" She asked, obviously taking in the size of the pile and relative lack of weaponry as she entered. Xander just nodded not trusting his voice. "So, I tried the door and nobody answered, but Giles' car is outside. I guess he's taking care of Spike's Mom, huh?" she guessed.

Xander didn't nod. He kicked the tool bench as hard as he could, sweeping the tools onto the floor and gripped the edge until the wood drew blood beneath his fingernails.

"Xander!" Willow cried out.

"Wills, I don't know what I'm doing here," he said, hating how broken his voice sounded. "I mean, it was bad enough worrying I was just a substitute for Buffy. But this? I can't compete with this. I don't know where to begin…"

"Oh, Xander, I'm sure that's not what's going on here…"

"No? Case you missed it, Wills, Spike up there? _Major_ Mama's boy. And not that I have a problem with that because, hey, I get it! I love my Mom. She's crazy, but I love her. And I get that he wants to take care of her but _dammit_…" Xander broke off, his voice cracking. "It's like there's no room for me here anymore!"

"Oh, Xander," Willow sighed. She reached out a hand to his shoulder only for him to flinch away.

"It's not fair," he whispered, afraid of the resentment he was giving voice to. "It's not fair that I had to lose Giles' respect over this and now he's hiding me like a dirty secret in my own home."

Willow's lip wobbled for a moment before she said forcefully, "Xander Harris, you are _nothing_ to be ashamed of. Put that idea out of your head right now. I don't know why Spike is being a big poop head, but his poop is _not_ your poop."

Xander smirked at Willow. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Willow ignored him. "Maybe he just needs some time to adjust to his mom being here. Now. And all—alive and stuff. I mean, she's not just English, she's _Victorian_. As in the woman who looked like a potato and believed lesbians were mythical creatures. Like unicorns. We're talking _pre-Buffy_-Giles levels of stuffiness."

"You're saying Giles is a unicorn?"

"_Xander_!" Willow cuffed him upside the head. Xander laughed at her exasperated expression.

"All right, point taken, Wills. This is an exponentially weirder coming-out scenario than either of us could have ever had vivid, vivid nightmares about. I should cut him some slack."

"Just a little. He _is_ being a really big poop head."

Xander smiled and began picking up the tools off the floor and replacing them on the bench.

"So you think she'll like me when she gets to meet me? When the quarantine is up?"

Willow smiled broadly.

"Of course! You're fun loving and funny and employed and did I say fun-loving already? Cause you really are."

"Got that part. Thanks," Xander sighed and slumped back down on a stack of orange crates. "Oh, who am I kidding? She's going to look at me like dirt under her fingernails. Maybe worse."

"Xander how can you say that?" Willow asked, pulling up the crate beside him.

"It's the truth, isn't it? I mean, let's face it. I didn't go to college. I work construction. Back in Spike's day I'd probably have been a criminal. But really bad at it because I'm not exactly nimble and I'd have been caught and thrown in prison with all the rest of the Charles Dickens rejects."

Willow shook her head emphatically. "Maybe you would have been taken in by a kindly old thief and taught the ways of the scruffy but adorable pick-pocket! You don't know!"

Xander gave her a dubious look. "I always got a creepy subtext from Fagin in that movie. I don't think possible pederasty would have been a check in the plus column of my hypothetical Victorian life."

"Sailor?"

"No dental."

"Well then maybe you'll win her over with your excellent oral hygiene and lack of a criminal past."

Xander grinned. "You think so?"

"Worked for me."

He mulled that thought over.

"Tara does have nice teeth."

"Yes. Yes she does."

* * *

  
Spike had just closed the door on Rupert when Xander emerged from the basement.

"Hey," Xander said with a half smile and a sheepish wave.

Spike was on top of him in two strides and crushing the air from his Xander's lungs.

"Think you can forgive me being a total prick?" He asked.

"If you didn't just crack my ribs, yeah, I think so," Xander replied with a slow smile. "Are we going to be okay?"

Spike nodded resolutely. "Yeah, love. Don't know quite how, but we'll make this work. Just see if we don't."

_I don't think I can do this without you,_ he added in the privacy of his own thoughts as he accepted the peaceful covenant of Xander's warm and open smile once again.

* * *

  
The next day Spike barreled into Joyce's gallery under a blanket and a cloud of smoke.

"Joyce? You got a minute?"

Joyce looked up from her shipment register and smiled wryly.

"Spike. If you wanted to chat you didn't have to immolate yourself, the gallery has a phone."

Spike barely registered her teasing. He'd spent all morning chatting with Mother under the guise of William until she had finally tired and he was able to leave her in Alvaro's care. She'd wanted to know everything there was to know about the last hundred and twenty years. He gave her the highlight reel, edited heavily, but somewhere in the vicinity of the Second World War, she'd wanted to know who was manning the factories while the men were off fighting battles. He'd learned something about his mother in that conversation. She seemed intrigued by the idea of women working.

"How different our lives might have been if I had worked, William," she told him, almost wistfully, and he knew she was thinking of the hunger, of the ever present _want_ in those years before he went off to school.

Which brought him to Joyce's gallery at two in the bloody afternoon.

"Been thinking. Don't know how long Mum's going to be here—if they'll find a way to put her back or if she'll want to go if they do, 'an I came to think maybe it'd be good for her to have something to occupy her time. Keep busy. Not now, mind, she's got another month or so in quarantine, but after—"

"You want me to give your mother a _job_?"

Spike smiled. "Yeah, think you could?"

"Does she have any experience?"

Spike shook his head. "Not much. She's good with people. Went to school, might know a bit more than the average bear about English painters of the nineteenth century."

Joyce nodded thoughtfully.

"Well, I don't know that I'd have it in the budget to be able to pay much—"

"Doubt that'd matter, really."

"—but if you can wait until this show is over, I'd probably have a better handle on the books. Say, a couple of weeks?" She offered.

Spike grinned. "Yeah, that'll be grand, luv."

Joyce came out from behind the register with a thoughtful expression.

"Spike, how much have you told your mother about Sunnydale?"

He avoided her eyes.

"She knows it's in Southern California."

"But she knows you're a vampire," she prompted. Spike said nothing. "You haven't told her you're a vampire? She hasn't _noticed_?"

Spike gave her a meaningful look.

"All right, but what about Xander? Did you tell her—" Spike looked away again and Joyce stopped herself. "How does _he_ feel about all this?" She asked pointedly.

Spike looked at her miserably. "It wasn't supposed to be like this! It was supposed to be him an' me, for good an' all. Now, whenever I'm with her, it's like I'm that bloody ponce _William_ again, only I don't even have Angelus' soul dodge to fall back on."

Joyce smiled knowingly. "It always seems to come as a surprise to people that their parents still have an influence over them after they've fallen in love."

Spike threw up his hands in vexation.

"My mother's been dead for a hundred an' twenty years!"

Joyce chuckled ruefully. "Mine's been dead for ten and that never stopped her butting in on my life. Seems to me like you have a decision to make."

Spike deflated. "She's my mum, Joyce. Don't wanna hafta choose, but, it's my mum—an' she's alive! Never thought I'd get the chance to make things right with her. Lived every bloody day of the last century and score regretting what I done to her. But I never thought I'd have anyone love me like Xan does. Not after Dru."

Joyce shook her head and shrugged, though not unkindly. "I can tell you that if she loves you—and I don't think there's any doubt of that—she'll accept you as you are."

Spike snorted.

"Yeah? Tell that to Rupert."

"Oh, I plan to." She promised fervently. "But if you're really planning to make your mother a part of your life—and Xander's going to be a part of that life—then you need to be honest with her. And for goodness sake, _explain about vampires_! I'm not saying now, necessarily—" she told him as he felt the panic welling in his chest, "—that's a lot to take in even if you haven't been uprooted from Victorian England—but before she does something foolish, like invite a nice, pale young man in for coffee because she's desperate for company."

Spike snorted. "Couldn't have that. Leastways not until she knows how to subdue the undead with miniature marshmallows."

Joyce smirked. "I'll include it in her orientation."

* * *

  
Xander didn't know Spike wasn't sleeping. Xander was snoring. When they'd first started sleeping together, it had bugged Spike to the point he couldn't sleep. So he'd started leaving the window open at night. Now Xander's snoring sort of blended into a white noise of chirping crickets, cars on the freeway, and the Santa Ana winds through the trees.

Xan wanted a wind chime for the back porch. Spike told him he might as well stick a sign on the door reading "Fags Abiding". That'd really landed him in the doghouse. How was he to know he'd had some sort of longstanding childhood dream of a house with a wind chime? And the stupid thing of it was he didn't actually mind wind chimes at all. But he wouldn't be able to sleep with the noise coming in from the window, and closing the window meant telling Xander he snored. If he did that, Xan would've smiled, but his eyes would have been mortified and insecure.

Spike didn't want to put that look in his eyes. So he'd lied.

But that wasn't why he was awake and watching him saw logs. He was awake, because Xander was next to him. And down the hall, his mother was alive and well and resting with a full stomach for what may have been the first time in her entire life. Spike lay beside his love in a warm bed in a house he wasn't going to be evicted from or god willing, have burned to the ground by a rival master, and he thought, _thank bloody Christ I don't have a soul to lose or it'd be halfway across the Styx and making time with Charon by now._

Because right then, when everything was quiet, and everyone was tucked up safe in bed, he could pretend for just a moment that everything was perfect. That tomorrow morning they'd wake up and have breakfast around the kitchen table, and his mother wouldn't care that he was drinking his from a bloodstained mug, but she would see Xander make that sheepish look as he went back for extra sausage and she'd tell him that he ought to take extra toast as well because he always got hungry before they called lunch on site and it was dangerous to be thinking about his stomach when he was working with power tools. Then he'd do it, because she was right and he loved her like his own mother and then Xan would drive Mother to the gallery on his way to work and Spike would have a long soak in the tub. Then he'd run by Willie's for a card game or two, give his winnings to school children, because that sort of thing would probably impress Xander and kittens didn't really figure heavily in his diet, then hold court for a while with the demons in the territory who were all too impressed by his violent past and devastating good looks to start any shite.

After which he would dust Dracula and take his court for his own.

The gypsies he'd saved from Drac's terrible oppression would be so overcome with gratitude they'd magic his chip away, all in time to meet Xan and his mother for dinner. Spike would, naturally, be taking them out some place nice to celebrate Xander's promotion to foreman. They'd be overcome with joy and pride that he'd gotten his chip removed and Xander would demand that he take him home immediately to make him Consort. Obviously they'd have Mother's blessing and she'd suggest that the severed heads of everyone who'd ever been cruel to Xander piked on the wrought iron fence that surrounded the property might make a lovely theft deterrent for their home.

Xander snuffled in his sleep and rolled over. Spike leaned over and kissed his shoulder blade.

Maybe the severed heads were a bit much to hope for right now, but it was a dream that would keep. Just six months before he'd have never imagined he'd have Xander, a beautiful home, dominion over the Hellmouth and his mother, miraculously returned to him and nearing a full recovery.

As he drifted off to sleep, Spike wondered what it'd take to get Dracula to come back to Sunnydale for a rematch.


	4. Chapter 4

Six weeks and three days since Anne Pratt joined their household and Spike was running out of excuses to Xander. Sex had been fairly subdued since that disastrous first night, but that was the least of their problems. When Xander was home, Anne was confined to her room to avoid infecting him. At first, Xander had encouraged Spike to spend the evenings with his mother in the hopes that the sooner she was brought up to speed on the social machinations of the twenty-first century, the sooner they could tell her the truth about their relationship and hopefully work their way toward full disclosure on the vampire front.

This was more difficult than they had originally anticipated. Spike had never known his mother to be deliberately obtuse, but no matter how he explained pasteurization or modern psychology or the sexual revolution, she seemed in need of constant repetition and often changed the subject, drawing out the conversation in directions that were hardly conducive to getting out of the room to spend any time at all with his lover.

"You need a better resolve face," Xander told him. "Ask Willow for tips."

Xander took a long draw on his mug of coffee before dumping it into the thermos on the kitchen counter and following it with the remains of the pot.

"Yeah, only I'm not trying to get her to pass geometry, am I?" Spike said, handing him the cap and sneaking another apple into Xander's lunch.

"Sounds like test cramming to me."

"Then why do I feel like the one who's failing?" Spike asked. It said something about the strain their relationship had taken that Xander said nothing in contradiction.

"Think I'll get to see you at all tonight?" Xander asked with only a little sulk in his voice.

Spike shrugged. "Maybe if Mother isn't being difficult." Spike wound his arms around Xander's waist and dropped his voice. "If all goes well, was thinking maybe we'd leave her with Alvaro. Hustle pool at the Bronze…"

Xander spun in Spike's grip and bussed his cheek. "Sounds great," he said, taking his thermos and lunch off the counter. Spike followed him into the foyer.

"Xander," he called.

Xander paused with his hand on the door handle. Spike caught up to him and spun him around roughly, pulling his head down to his for a punishing kiss. "I love you," he said.

Xander nodded and made a poor attempt at a smile. "See you tonight," he said.

Spike leaned against the door, listening to Xander's steps on the sidewalk and didn't hear the click of his mother's door shutting.

All did _not_ go well.

With new resolve, Spike decided to focus on getting his mother to eat when she was hungry, rather than when she was fed. For whatever reason, this was the one taboo they kept returning to, despite how often he explained that there was nothing shameful in walking down to the kitchen to get a snack if she was feeling peckish. His attempts were less than successful and he cringed when Xander arrived home with Chinese food, knowing that was yet another hurdle he'd have to jump in his mother's health education.

That dinner was the longest meal of his life.

"That was the point of Sinclair's work, mother. The creation of the FSA in England and the FDA here."

"But you said this was Chinese…"

"Mother, I guarantee you this container of moo shu pork has never touched foreign soil. Sold here, it still has to conform to the law of the land. More or less."

"I don't know William…"

"Look," Spike said, dipping his chopsticks into the carton and pulling out a piece of meat which was promptly stuffed into his mouth, "You see? It's perfectly lovely. Try some."

"William! Must you be so vulgar?"

Spike swallowed. "Sorry, Mother. But honestly, you _must_ eat something."

"I had some broth earlier."

"That's it?"

"It was sufficient."

"_Mother_…"

"Why don't you tell me more about the position you found me."

Spike fought back a growl and reluctantly allowed his mother to change the topic. "Yes, well, Mrs. Summers, as I told you—"

"The widow?"

"—um yes, well, you'll be assisting her in her gallery."

"I do wonder about how her daughters get on with their mother so occupied."

"They are very capable young ladies," he bit off, shortly.

"And no servants you say?"

Spike shook his head. "Very rare for the middle classes to have them now." Spike once again proffered the carton and she once again pretended not to notice.

"Honestly, I don't understand how anyone manages. Mothers working and nobody tending the home or the children."

"I think they have a cleaning woman in every two weeks or so." Spike sighed, and threw his chopsticks down on the tray.

"Still. Government run schools, markets…it's all very regimented now, isn't it?"

_God, I have a headache._ "Yes, well, they make up for it with moral licentiousness."

"Do they?"

Spike looked suspiciously at his mother's curious expression before answering. "After a fashion. The lower classes no longer feel the burden of piety quite so keenly, nor are the upper classes quite so free to live as they choose. There seems to be a moderate amount of wickedness spread around equally."

Anne shivered. "How horrid."

Spike smirked. "Yes, well, I think you'll find people tend to be happier on the whole without the same strictures and compulsions regarding politesse."

"Yes…I've noticed," Anne said quietly, fiddling with a bit of lace on her dressing gown.

Spike cocked his eyebrow. This did not sound promising. "Mother?"

"William, I...forgive me, my dear, but you do seem quite familiar with your friends."

Spike came up blank trying to figure out what on earth she was talking about. "I…yes, well, I hope you'll understand that it is the custom nowadays to refer to ones friends and acquaintances by their Christian names."

"Yes, I had gathered that, but that was not exactly to what I was referring."

"Mother?"

Anne blushed and looked away. "Your friend Mr. Harris seems quite affectionate." Spike froze. "I remember a Turkish acquaintance of your father's seemed similarly disposed toward kissing as a salutation, though I never imagined…"

_Oh. Fuck._ "Turkish!" Spike blurted, startling his mother.

"Pardon?"

"Mother, I'm afraid you have discovered the shameful secret. Mr. Harris is indeed Turkish."

Anne looked taken aback. "Oh! Really, well that is quite…that is to say, are you sure? He doesn't look—"

"Half Turkish. His father was quite the fiend. We don't speak of it."

"I should say not. How good of you to overlook it."

"Yes, well, I indulge his familiarity. Tolerance of other's differences is very important, you know."

Anne didn't seem entirely convinced. "Of course, William. I apologize, I fear I thought…never mind."

"You thought, what, Mother?" Spike probed cautiously.

Her face blushed crimson. "Oh, pray, don't make me say it aloud."

Silence reigned. Spike tried to decide how to play his hand. She obviously didn't buy his story but she would likely drop the subject for now. _Still, it couldn't hurt to lay a little groundwork…_ "Were it to be otherwise, that sort of thing isn't prohibited now."

Anne's eyes widened "I see."

Spike kicked himself, realizing belatedly he'd more or less just confirmed her suspicions. _God, is it too much to ask that I could be subtle, just this once?_ The only thing left was to make as graceful an exit as possible before he completely bollocksed things up. "Yes, well, I suppose I ought to leave you to your rest now."

"Thank you, William."

Spike all but ran to the kitchen, tearing open a bag of blood, spilling half of it before getting it into his favorite mug and nearly throwing it into the microwave. He sank down on the nearest stool and pulled at his hair. The microwave pinged. Spike pulled out the mug of blood and turned around. He nearly dropped it in panic when he saw his mother in the doorway. Spike quickly shuffled the mug out of view and into the sink and tried to compose himself. "Mother, not that I'm not glad to see you up and around on your own, but if you were hungry you ought to have said something."

"No, William I oughtn't have, and more to the point, I…I can't. It's all very well that you've accustomed yourself to the world as it is now, but I…I cannot. To speak so basely of one's nature! Such indulgence, such licentiousness…I cannot abide it, William! I _will_ not. Forgive me, William…"

Anne began to faint.

"Mother!" Spike ran forward and caught her just before her head hit the edge of the counter.

_Shite._ She hadn't seen the blood. But she had seen enough. She knew. She knew the truth even if she didn't know the details and that was that. Spike returned her to her bed and left word with Alvaro to give her whatever she wanted when she woke. He found Xander in their room, watching TV.

"I take it we're not going out then," Xander said, not looking at him.

"She saw us this morning." Spike told him, dropping into the armchair.

"She what?"

"Saw us. Kissing," He muttered through his hands.

Xander shut off the TV and leaned forward. "Jesus, what did you tell her? Did you tell her anything?"

"I told her you were Turkish."

Xander laughed but Spike couldn't meet his eyes. Xander reached out to him. He pretended not to see. Xander's hand withdrew. "Spike, we can't do this forever," said Xander softly.

Spike stared at the floor. "I know."

"I love you. But I don't like hiding. I don't like lying. I don't have it in me to keep doing this. Even when you're here with me, you're never _with_ me anymore."

Spike paused, knowing what was coming. Hating himself he only said, "I know." Spike didn't want to see the heartbreak in Xander's face.

"You're never going to tell her, are you," said Xander with painful realization. Spike said nothing. "Right. Stupid to think you would have chosen me." Xander strolled to their closet too casually and pulled out his black duffle bag and began sightlessly filling it with clothes.

"Xan…"

Xander held up his hand, body coiled tightly. "Don't. Please don't. I don't think I can deal right now."

Spike sat silently with his head bowed while Xander packed. "Where will you go?" he asked.

Xander just laughed a weird, high-pitched laugh as he crossed the threshold. "Goodbye, Spike."

* * *

  
_Abandon all hope, ye who enter here._ Xander paused in the basement doorway. His mother was doing laundry. Somehow, he hadn't expected that.

"Xander?"

The smells of bleach and bug bombs. The faintest odor of his sweat from the couch. Fabric softener. Mildew. Watery light and cement floors with rag rugs. Boxes of his childhood toys and his grandfather's old clothes.

His father on the stairs ripping his heart out. Giles on the inflatable chair Jesse won at the arcade.

"Mom?"

Suddenly he was six years old and the only kid in class who didn't get an invitation to Willow's birthday. He actually didn't realize he was crying until he felt his mom's arms around him, holding him as tightly as when grandma Lavelle died. It felt like home and failure and that familiar blend of home and failure that was both comforting in its hopelessness and familiarity.

"Oh, Xander…" she crooned. He cried harder, the genuine concern in her voice amplified the reality of his misery. He didn't care.

_Over…all over. I was going to be his Consort. We were going to have forever._

Xander gave into his despair. _Abandon all hope_, he thought repetitively.

_So,_ this _is hell._

* * *

  
Hell, as it happened, had lime slurpees.

Xander's mom sat beside him on the front stoop nursing her own beverage while he chased four aspirin with the dregs of tart, icy, goodness.

"So do I get to know what that was all about?" she asked. Xander gave her a watery smile.

"Well, you know I'll do anything for a pity slurpee."

"Usually you just fake a stomach ache."

"Yeah."

"It's not Anya, is it?"

"No, Mom, it's not Anya."

"It is someone though."

"Yeah."

"Is she bigger than a breadbox?"

Xander smiled sadly. His breath hitched as he spoke. "Yes, _he_ is."

"Oh."

Xander casually took his mother's hand as she came to terms with the information.

"I didn't know," she said.

"It's okay, I didn't either."

"You were living together?"

Xander nodded. "Yeah. I was renting him a place I rehabbed."

A pause, and then, "You going to kick his no-good ass out?"

Xander laughed in shock. "Mom!"

Jessica Harris smiled wryly and swirled her cup before knocking back the rest of her slurpee. "I don't know what happened, baby, but I know you're hurting. I don't like it."

Xander snorted bitterly. "Not really a fan myself."

Jessica turned and squeezed his hand tightly, looking him fiercely in the eyes. "You can stay as long as you need to. You know that."

Xander was a little startled by her vehemence. "What about Dad?" He asked.

Jessica stared off into the middle distance. Not wanting to ruin whatever odd bonding moment it was they had going on, Xander held up his hand in surrender.

"You know what, don't worry about Dad. I'll talk to him."

Jessica let out a relieved sigh. "Are you going to tell him about…" she gestured vaguely in his direction.

"…Your sign language skills?" he teased. "Thought I'd give it a miss."

She swatted his shoulder.

"No, I wasn't going to go into detail. But he should hear about my colossal screw up from my mouth. Should make him happy, don't you think?"

"Xander, your father loves you. He just doesn't understand you all the time."

"Never really tried too hard either—"

"Xander—"

Xander hung his head. "I know. I'm sorry, Mom, I didn't want to cause problems."

Jessica shook her head in frustration. "You're not a problem, Alexander Harris, you're my _son_. No matter what."

Xander marveled at how petty he'd been in projecting his fears onto his mother. He probably could have told her about him and Spike months ago. _Maybe if you had, Spike wouldn't have chosen his mother over you_, he thought. "Thanks, Mom." He said, shaking off that extremely futile line of thought.

Jessica nodded solemnly. "Love you too, baby. Now help these old bones to stand. I need to get you some clean sheets for the pull out."

* * *

  
Two weeks later, Joyce was peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink. Anne Pratt was due to end her quarantine and start work at the gallery in the morning so she'd invited Spike and his mother to dinner. When Dawn came in she sat down at the island with a dramatic huff. Joyce smiled to herself and prepared for the full account of Xander's first Scooby meeting since the breakup.

"How'd it go?" she asked.

"You know that feeling when you're somewhere fancy and you have a wedgie but you can't do anything about it? It was pretty much like that," Dawn posited.

"Awkward?"

"Oh yeah. Everyone was way too nice, except for Giles who was really smug. I thought Buffy was going to hit him. I don't know what Giles said to Xander, but he left really upset."

Joyce shook her head and bit back the sharp words she had for Rupert Giles. "I imagine he probably tried to convince Xander it was for the best," she said, handing a peeler to Dawn and making room at the sink for her daughter to help peal. Dawn dragged over a stool and perched beside her.

"But it wasn't! It's so _stupid_!" Dawn protested, taking a large chunk out of the potato in her hand.

"Dawn…"

"They love each other, Mom! Why'd Spike have to go and ruin everything?"

Joyce put down her peeler and pulled up a seat beside her youngest. "Things aren't always that simple, honey. Your father and I never stopped loving each other."

"Yeah, but I don't think it was because grandma Summers couldn't handle knowing you and Dad had sex."

"Dawn…"

"Okay, yeah, that was an image I didn't need either."

Joyce rolled her eyes. "Thank you. What I was going to say, was that as much as your father and I loved each other, and as much as he loved you girls, we just couldn't make it work."

"Yeah, and he sure shows it too," Dawn muttered.

"No, he hasn't always done a very good job showing it. But I know Hank Summers well enough to know that if he had to, he'd trade his life for any one of ours in a heart beat."

Dawn nodded thoughtfully. "I'm still sad though."

Joyce squeezed her daughter's shoulder before resuming pealing. "So am I sweetie."

Dawn picked up her potato and went back to work for a moment before asking, "Do you think we should say something? When they come over?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, dear."

"But Mrs. Pratt will be working for you," Dawn argued. "Can't you like, tell her to chill out? As her boss?"

Joyce smiled fondly at her daughter's stubborn naiveté. "If I thought that would be enough, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But she has a lot to adjust to right now. This is the first day she's been out of quarantine. Give her some time and maybe we'll see. Hard as it may be to believe, mothers don't _usually_ spend every waking moment trying to torture their offspring."

Dawn frowned. "You think Spike misses Xander?"

Joyce nodded. "I know he does."

"He hasn't been by though, has he?" Dawn fished.

"I imagine he's got enough on his plate trying to help his mother and Buffy and you and everyone else."

"I still say it's stupid."

"You're not wrong."

* * *

  
Anne Pratt was surprisingly quiet on the walk from their house to the Summers', once again giving rise to the suspicion that her inability to come to grips with modern life was more deliberate than she let on when her first glimpse of a car roused nothing but the most cursory of curious glances. Spike bit back the bitter words on his tongue, not wanting to vent his spleen on her needlessly.

_You bloody well made your bed this time, William. Isn't this what you wanted?_ Spike snorted.

"Bless you," Anne said. Spike rolled his eyes.

"Here we are Mother," he told her as they approached the house on Revello Drive.

Spike nervously assisted his mother up the steps before ringing the bell. Buffy answered the door.

"Mrs. Pratt, William, please, come in."

"Thank you, Buffy."

Buffy gave him a sad little smile.

"Mother, this is Miss Summers. Buffy, this is my mother, Mrs. Anne Pratt."

"Miss Summers, so delighted to make your acquaintance at last. I understand you in particular have been a great deal of help to my son in his transition here."

Spike swallowed anxiously and caught Buffy's slightly pitying look before she replied, "William has been great to have around, Mrs. Pratt. Speaking of, why don't you see if Mom needs any help with the wine and I'll play tour guide."

Spike gratefully left his mother with Buffy and found Joyce and Dawn bickering in the kitchen.

"Hey," he said, hesitantly. Both ladies stopped mid sentence and turned. Dawn gave him a cold look and left the room. Joyce looked concernedly after her daughter but came around the island to meet him.

"She's a little high-strung at the moment."

"More like she'd like to see me strung high, by the look of it."

"She'll come around." Joyce handed him a potato masher and set him to work

"Not sure she'd be wrong not to," he said, gamely mashing potatoes.

"Give your mother some time."

Spike put down the bowl sullenly. "Don't think it much matters at this point. She could do a complete about face and Xan still would be a fool to take me back."

"Can you blame him?" Joyce asked, carefully decanting a merlot over the sink.

"Of course not."

Spike somberly turned back to the task at hand only to find a glass of wine pressed into his hand.

"Drink?" Joyce kindly offered.

"Oh, God, yes."

Dinner conversation was polite if a bit stilted. Dawn remained steadfastly silent though Buffy and Joyce made a strong effort to be conversational. His mother was obviously unused to their casual mode of dining, but to her credit she served herself as the dishes were passed and after two glasses of wine, seemed much more at ease in the conversation.

"Mrs. Summers you have a lovely home here," she complemented.

Joyce smiled brightly. "Thank you. Sometimes it felt like we'd never finish unpacking, but I think we're pretty comfortable here now."

"Yes, Miss Summers mentioned you'd moved here fairly recently."

"It's difficult starting over someplace new. The divorce was difficult on all of us, but we've gotten through it and made some wonderful new friends here," she said warmly, tipping her glass to Spike.

"Divorce?" Anne asked weakly.

Buffy flinched and caught Spike's panicked look across the table. "Divorce…from the mortal coil! Kind of dramatic, I know, but what with the tragic circumstances, it's sort of fitting don't you think?" Buffy covered.

"_Tragic circumstances_?" Joyce asked, pointedly. Spike drained his wine glass and refilled it quickly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, it's still pretty painful to talk about. I mean, he ran into that burning house and pulled all of us to safety. If only he hadn't gone back for the cat…"

Spike snorted inelegantly into his wine glass.

"_Cat_?" Joyce asked incredulously.

"What a remarkable man he must have been, to give his life for his family," Anne sympathized.

Dawn looked up from her plate. "Dying for someone you love is easy. It's living for them that's hard."

Spike met her hard look across the table. The bottle was empty. _Oh yeah. No regrets at all._


	5. Chapter 5

Anne was solicitous on the walk home but the more she tried to draw Spike into conversation the less he felt like speaking.

Possibly he'd never considered what it would really mean to have his mother back with him for all the longing he'd felt for the comforts of hearth and home over the years. If this was his chance to make things right, then why did it feel like every damn thing had gone wrong since she'd arrived? If this was what he wanted, what he chose, then why wasn't he happy?

Maybe taking care of Mother had been enough for William, whatever fantasies of marriage to Cecily he may have harbored, but Spike wasn't William.

What Spike needed was fire and passion and warm brown eyes that got a little green in them when the weather changed. Loyalty. Love.

He'd had what he needed, and he'd sent it packing.

So caught up in his thoughts was he, that he didn't realize he'd been directing them along his usual road home rather than the longer, safer route.

The route that _didn't_ pass directly by Restview Cemetery.

When he finally realized where he had inadvertently led them, it was too late. The five vampires, the leader of which stood six and a half feet if he was an inch, vaulted the cemetery fence and stood before them, growling and in game face. Anne screamed.

"Mother, I want you to run back to Joyce's right now," he muttered.

"William—"

"Don't _argue_ Mother, just _go_!" He didn't look to see if she obeyed, not wanting to turn his back to his foe.

"Master Spike, I challenge you for—"

"Oh fuck, not _now_ you wanker!"

"You forfeit?"

"No I don't bloody _forfeit_ and I'll _gladly_ dust you tomorrow, but—"

The vampire built like a brick shithouse didn't wait for his excuse. He fired off a roundhouse kick that caught Spike in the jaw and rocked him on his feet.

"Right. Guess we're doing this now, then."

Spike withdrew two stakes from his pockets and threw them into the vamps directly flanking the would-be Master. His right cross connected with the face of the vamp to his left before his arm was pinned to his side by the other fledge at his back. He kicked out and propelled himself off the fledge adjusting his jaw over the shoulder of the vamp who held him before staking him in the back, the vamp he'd hit impaling himself on his stake as he ran at Spike through the dust of the other.

Spike's challenger growled and charged him.

Spike rolled his eyes and threw one more stake which, unfortunately, deflected off the zipper of his motorcycle jacket. Before the vamp could reach him, Spike jumped straight up and grabbed an obliging tree branch, wrapped his legs around the vamps neck and popped it like a champagne cork. Spike dropped back down to earth as the dust settled and surveyed his environs, at first finding no sign of his mother and taking it to mean she'd done as he'd asked and run back to Joyce before he spotted her cowering near the cemetery fence further down the block. Spike ran to her, unthinking, worried that something had gotten to her while he'd been fighting, but as he approached, he realized she was unharmed, and staring at him in mingled disbelief and dismay.

"Mother, are you all right?" He asked, hesitantly. She said nothing and shied away from his touch when he reached out to her. Spike's hand went to his face where it felt the familiar ridges and crests of his game face. His face bled back to human. His shoulders fell.

"What…are you?" She asked.

"A vampire," he answered plainly.

"And those—" she began.

"Vampires. Mother—"

"You're not my son."

Her words twisted his heart.

"I am—I _was_ William," he corrected. "I was turned, but he's still here. _In_ here," he gestured to his head.

"You're a _demon_."

Spike reached out to her again and she pulled away fearfully, her steps increasingly unsteady.

"Mother!" He cried in alarm as she tripped in her haste to get away from him. He caught her arm to right her but she struggled frantically against him.

"You're _not_ William!" She screamed before her eyes rolled back in her head. Spike caught her as she fell, lowering her gently to the ground.

"No. I'm not." He said softly. _And more the fool, I._

Spike mechanically lifted his mother into his arms and set off back the way they came.

* * *

  
The forceful knocking sent Buffy to answer the door by unspoken agreement. Joyce watched as Buffy stepped aside with a gasp and Spike barreled in with his mother, unconscious in his arms.

"Spike? What happened?"

"Vampire," he explained with a lost look. Buffy took his mother from his arms and laid her on the couch in the living room to begin first aide. Spike stood in the hallway, watching, his arms wrapped tightly around himself and rocking slightly.

"Spike?" Joyce asked, touching his shoulder gently. Spike jumped violently and looked around in confusion before his eyes settled on her face. Joyce reached out to him but he just shook his head and began pacing a small circle in the entryway.

"Spike? I don't understand," Buffy called from the living room. "Your mom's fine, there's no blood. I thought you said she was attacked by vampires."

"Fought 'em off, didn't I?" Spike said, more to himself than anyone. "S'no good, now. You'll take care of her, won't you?"

"Spike, what are you talking—"

"She saw me. My face. Told her everything, like you said. But I'm not William. Not her boy any longer. Xan knew that. Still hurt him in the end, though."

"Oh, God, Spike—"

"Just, look after her, yeah? Gonna—I'm gonna go. Can't say sorry now, but I can make sure I never hurt Xan again."

"Spike!" Joyce called after him, but it was too late. He was gone.

* * *

  
Later that night, Xander stared blearily around the bar as he pealed the label off his sixth beer.

"Another one, Harris?"

Xander shook his head slowly and smiled ruefully.

"Been in here too much."

"Something stronger?"

"Yeah."

Willy dropped the bottle and shot glass in front of him. Xander shakily poured the bourbon, sloshing half onto the over-lacquered wood surface, and raised the glass to his mouth.

_Here's to you, Spike, for getting while the getting was good._

Xander snorted and tossed it back, relishing the punishing burn. A woman sat down beside him on the adjacent stool, clearly having missed the memo that he wasn't looking for company. He ignored her easily, letting the sweet, sweet haze of drunkenness wash over him.

"Sazerac, please."

Xander's head whipped around too quickly and he had to grip the bar to keep from falling.

She wasn't looking at him, but she was clearly amused by his reaction.

"Manon?"

"Mister Harris."

Beyond his initial reaction, he wasn't really sure what to say to her. Wasn't really sure if he had the right to say anything to her or if she'd even be interested in anything he had to say without his association with Spike.

Still, it never hurt to be polite.

"So what brings you here? Everything all right?"

"Henri was busy hosting a delegation from Bordeaux and sent me in his stead."

"Oh." Xander replied intelligently. Manon's lip quirked again.

"William called this evening."

"Did he?"

"Mmm." She replied, sipping her cocktail, making a face as she registered the flavor. "Willy?" she beckoned.

Willy jumped and turned. Manon smiled and withdrew a small bottle from her purse.

"Use this next time, won't you?" she told him. He looked at the bottle then smiled warily and went away wherever Willy went. "Teleportation gives me a dreadful headache," she told him.

Xander didn't have the right to ask her to explain herself and he was strongly lacking in motivation to wait for more cryptic tidbits. Her confidential attitude was like a knife to the gut. He didn't _want_ to know what mess Spike had gotten himself into. He _didn't_ want to worry about Spike when he was powerless to intervene and they were _not_ confidants any longer. With a look that was more apologetic than pained, he hoped, he pushed himself away from the bar and turned to go. Manon, caught his arm.

"_Cher_, forgive me, but I fear there is some misunderstanding between us. I expected you would not be pleased by his decision, but I can assure you he will be successful."

Xander's brain stalled in disbelief.

"_Not pleased_? I _love_ him! Of _course_ I wasn't pleased!"

Manon smiled indulgently.

"But surely some part of you must feel at least a _little_ honored—"

Xander choked back something in between a sob and a laugh.

"_Honored_?" Xander felt his lip tremble and pulled out of her grasp, ready to bolt if he wasn't going to be able to keep it together.

"_Cher_," she soothed, seeming put off by his reaction, "William will be fine. He will come home to you—"

Xander looked at her, suddenly suspecting they were having two separate conversations.

"Unless Spike feels a sudden, inexplicable nostalgia for my parents' basement, he won't be coming home to _me_ any time soon."

"I don't understand—"

"Well that makes two of us then."

"You and William are no longer—oh dear," she said.

"That about sums it up."

"No, no, but I was sure he said he intended to endure the trials for _you_—he never said anything?"

"Manon, I haven't seen Spike in over a month. Not since he threw me out."

"He did _what_?"

Xander snorted bitterly.

"So you'd be the one person who doesn't know."

"I think we'd better start from the beginning."

Xander sighed.

"Manon, it's wonderful to see you again, and I hope you have a nice visit, but I really don't want to hear about Spike right now." Xander threw a handful of bills on the bar and walked to the door.

"Not even if he's fighting to regain his soul?"

* * *

  
It wasn't a conversation they wanted to have at Willy's, but going back to the house that had been his home only six short weeks prior was more than Xander felt he could reasonably handle, and taking Manon back to his parents' house was out of the question.

Buffy's it was then.

"He was quite upset when he phoned Henri. I was led to believe there had been some sort of disagreement between you, not that things had ended entirely. Such disloyalty is very unlike William."

Xander shrugged. "Guess there's a first time for everything."

Manon frowned.

"You're being petulant. Tell me what happened."

"His mother is what happened. Popped out of a dimensional portal and back into her sweet William's life and it's sayonara Xander."

"A portal? Are you certain it was his mother?"

Xander nodded.

"We checked. It was her, all right. Actually, I'm surprised you need me to tell you this, isn't she at the house anymore?"

Manon shook her head. "No, this is the first I am hearing about her."

That was concerning. Had something happened to her? Was that what prompted Spike to go looking for his soul?

"Spike never let her out of his sight. But I doubt he'd want to take her with him, not and run the risk of her finding out what he is."

"She doesn't know he is a vampire?"

"She saw us kissing and Spike tossed me out on my ear. How do you think she'd take the news that her beloved son is a demon masquerading around in his skin?"

"You know that is _not_ entirely—"

Xander lowered his eyes. "I know. I'm sorry. But this is really goddamn hard for me."

Manon took his arm.

They continued the walk in silence until a bright, swirling vortex appeared before them about a block from Buffy's.

"Well, this can't be good," Xander muttered, subtly moving in front of Manon.

The vortex pulsed once before a figure emerged from the center, vaguely human shaped but seemingly made up of the same energy as the vortex. As Xander watched, the vortex shrank and disappeared. The light-man suddenly let out a hacking cough and the brightness flickered a moment before fading out completely and suddenly there was a paunchy, middle aged guy standing there with a receding hairline and a complete lack of pants.

"Hey, Alex, you wanna give me that shirt? SoCal's a little breezier than I remember."

Indignant, he replied, "You're not turning my flannel into a loincloth, pal. Who the hell are you?"

The guy sighed irritably. "I'm a Herald for the Powers that Be." The guy snapped his fingers and pointed rudely. "Shirt?"

Xander growled but shrugged it off and tossed it in his direction anyway.

"Thanks, buddy," he replied, tying the sleeves around his waist. "Hey, this is really soft, you get this at Sears?"

"Penny's."

"Nice. So anyway, Alex—"

"Xander."

"_Gesundheit_. I'm here about Spike."

"What about him?" Xander asked cautiously.

"Funniest thing, actually. Come on, I'll walk you to Buffy's."

Xander exchanged a glance with Manon. She shrugged elegantly. Xander sighed and gestured for him to lead.

"So the thing is, The Powers have had their eye on him for a while, but when he met _you_, well, let's just say I was living in Chicago when Ditka decided the Fridge would make a good running back, and I don't think Raymond Berry was _half_ as surprised as the Powers were that day."

Xander stared at him blankly.

"I was at that game," Manon interjected, apropos of nothing.

"No shit? Well of course you were, I'll bet Henri has a suite at the Superdome, am I right?"

Manon smiled. "The view from the fifty yard line is really incomparable."

"You think I could get tickets—"

"Hey!" Xander shouted in frustration.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," the Herald said insincerely. "So anyway, as long as you and Spike are together, he's basically working for us."

"And you decided to fuck that up by sending him his mother, _why_ exactly?"

The Herald grinned. "See, that's the funny part. The Powers aren't exactly the bastards they seem like half the time, but they're focused on the big picture. Up close, like we are, the details can look pretty fucked up, but they usually have their reasons and they're usually right. In this case, they were happy he was working for us, sure, but the problem was that no matter how many times Spike saves the world, he's still a demon. He's out of our jurisdiction. No soul, no eternal pat on the back."

"You're telling me it bugged the Powers they couldn't reward Spike for being a good guy?"

"Actually, yeah. See, it's not just the reward, it's the implied contract. He does good, he gets his wings and shiny halo at the end of the day. It's security."

"And without the contractual obligation you figure, what, he might just change his mind? Wouldn't it mean more coming from someone who doesn't have anything to gain?"

"But that's just it, he wasn't being altruistic. He was doing it for you. Which is jim-dandy for the time being but what if something happened to you? You telling me your boyfriend wouldn't go on a killing spree? Maybe try taking out the world while he was at it?"

Xander wanted to argue but he couldn't.

"So we brought in his mother to poke a little at his weak spots and sure enough, he's on his way to get his soul right now."

Xander's heart sank a little. Sure, Spike would play at being a white hat for him, but he was currently going to the ends of the earth to win his soul back—

"For you, dumb-ass. He's doing it for you," the Herald clarified, irritably.

"Hey, did you just—"

"Didn't have to. You pout like a two year old. So are you ready for this? Here's the message I was sent to deliver—" The Herald straightened himself up importantly and cleared his throat.

Then he smacked Xander in the back of the head.

"Hey, _ow_!"

"You need to forgive the little creep and stop feeling sorry for yourself."

Xander rubbed the back of his head and glared.

"He's going to be back here in a few days and he'll be in rough shape. He's going to need you."

"He dumped me to make his mother happy. Let her take care of him."

This time Manon's hand joined the Herald's in hitting him.

Xander's eyes narrowed in her direction. "_E tu_, Manon?"

The Herald explained impatiently. "No, _she can't_ take care of him, you jackass. _She_ rejected him."

"She _what_?"

The Herald stopped walking and Xander realized they were at Buffy's.

"This is where I get off. Joyce'll fill you in on the details. See you, kids." He stepped back and another portal began forming behind him, the light beginning to bleed into him until he became indistinguishable from the bright, swirling vortex until it suddenly blinked out with a sound like a recording of a foghorn played backwards.

* * *

  
"Xander? Did Spike find you?"

Joyce looked extremely frazzled poking her head out the front door. Xander exchanged a glance with Manon before responding.

"He was here?"

Joyce looked as though a million questions were dying to burst forth, but Manon spoke first.

"Mrs. Summers, I am Manon De Sauveterre."

To Joyce's credit she hardly missed a beat before she was extending her hand and welcoming them inside.

"Thank you, Mrs. Summers. William called my Master this evening and asked for one of us to come and watch over the Hellmouth in his absence."

Just then Xander happened to glance into the living room and saw Spike's mom on the sofa.

"What the…Joyce, what happened?" Xander asked. "What's she doing here?"

Joyce sighed. "Come into the kitchen and we can try and get this sorted out."

They followed behind her and took seats at the island while Joyce reflexively made cocoa.

"What time did Spike call you, Manon?" She asked.

"It was just after seven. Two hours later here."

Joyce nodded. "It was about nine when he left here, the last time."

"Joyce, did Spike's mom reject him tonight in some way?" Xander asked.

Joyce paused, clearly putting the events together.

"I think she must have. I had them both over to dinner to celebrate the end of her quarantine and the start of her job tomorrow. They left together just after eight, but then he came back with Anne, she was unconscious, and he talking about a vampire attack. Buffy looked her over but she didn't have any marks on her. He said something about her seeing his face, so she must have seen his vampire face and fainted. I tried to get him to tell me more, but he said—" Joyce paused in remembrance and looked directly at Xander. "He said he couldn't say sorry but that he could make sure he didn't hurt you any more."

Xander gripped the mug Joyce handed him tightly, before he turned to Manon. "Please tell me he's not planning on dusting himself," he told her.

Manon's lips were set in a grim line. "I do not think so, _Cher_. There would have been more efficient ways then he had planned."

"Yeah, but Spike isn't exactly all about efficiency, is he?"

Joyce looked at them concernedly. "What exactly did he say he was planning?"

Manon took a sip of her cocoa before responding. "There is a demon. In Africa. Something he'd heard Henri speak of back when he was little more than a fledgling. This demon has the ability to grant impossible requests."

"Like a genie?" Joyce asked.

"Not exactly. A petitioner must make themselves worthy by passing three trials, set by the demon."

"And I'm guessing we're not talking about hopscotch, are we." Xander quipped.

"No."

Xander trailed his finger through some spilled sugar on the counter. "He'll be fine, right? I mean, the Powers that Be said this is what they wanted."

Manon place her hand on his wrist. "He will get his soul and come back to you, _Cher_. He is strong, but more importantly, he fights for _you_."

Xander wanted so badly to give into the hope that Spike would come back to him. But he knew better than to hope. The powers wanted their security deposit. With the soul, Xander was little more than a redundancy. With the soul, Spike might be as rigidly Victorian as his mother.

"He loves you very much, Xander," Joyce added kindly, pulling a bag of mini marshmallows from the cupboard. That small reminder of the man he loved devastated him, underlining the futility of trying not to hope for the best with his whole heart.

Xander buried his face in his hands miserably and settled in to begin the long wait for Spike to come home.


	6. Chapter 6

Joyce winced as the front door slammed then reflexively released a calmer breath. For the past two years she'd lived in fear of the night Buffy wouldn't come home to her.

But this was not that night.

"Hey Mom, was that Xander I saw up the block?"

Joyce beckoned Buffy to sit and slid her a plate of sandwiches and a glass of orange juice.

"Spike's gone to Africa to get his soul."

Buffy spit out her juice. "What?"

Joyce was prevented from answering by the sound of low murmuring from the living room. She gave Buffy a harried glance. "This will be easier if I only have to explain once. Give me a hand?"

Buffy nodded, her mouth full, and followed Joyce into the other room where Anne was sitting and cradling her head in her hands, weeping silently.

"Mrs. Pratt?" Buffy asked, gently.

Anne Pratt looked up, miserably, eyes red and cheeks wet with tears. "My son…my poor son is dead."

"Undead," Buffy corrected automatically, then noticed the stricken look on Anne's face decided to follow a course of more action and less speech. "I'll just grab the Kleenex," she said and ducked quickly out of the room.

Joyce sighed. "What did he tell you?"

"He…" Anne grasped.

"Spike," Joyce told her softly.

"_Spike_," Anne tried. "A devil."

"Your son."

"Not my William."

Joyce sat back on her heels and frowned.

"Did William care for his mother to the exclusion of his own happiness and fulfillment? _Spike_ does. Did William wear his heart on his sleeve? Did he have an incurable sweet tooth? Was he fond of grand romantic gestures, because Spike is currently on his way to Africa to endure demon trials to restore his human soul."

Recognition lit her eyes.

"My boy—my sweet boy, what have I done?"

A while later, tears shed and explanations rendered, Anne looked quizzically at Buffy studiously shredding a tissue.

"You seem vexed. Is this a worrisome thing he's done?"

Buffy visibly forced herself to still her hands. "The only other vampire I know with a soul spent about a hundred years half crazy trying to come to terms with the things he'd done as a soulless killer. If Spike comes back we don't know what kind of shape he's going to be in. Actually, I should call Angel…" Buffy muttered before rushing to the kitchen.

"How could I have done such a thing? How could I not have seen?" Anne asked.

Joyce smiled knowingly. "When I first found out about the slaying I tried to make Buffy stop. I didn't understand, didn't _want_ to understand, that she wasn't just my little girl anymore. It's a lot to take in."

"His young man knew, didn't he."

Joyce nodded, and looked at Anne speculatively. "Did you ever suspect he was—"

"A homosexual?" Anne asked, voice tense. She sighed and her shoulders fell minutely. "Not as such. He was always besotted with one girl or another, but he was so meek about his affections they never amounted to anything."

Joyce smirked. "Cecily?"

Anne looked up in surprise. "Does he still speak of her?"

Joyce replaced her cup in her saucer and shook her head. "Only that it didn't end well."

"Oh dear." Anne sat back into the cushions and affected an air of tragedy, shaking her head regretfully. "I suspect he read her his poems." Joyce laughed and Anne hid a small, fond smile. "Mister Harris hasn't been subjected yet, has he?"

"Spike gave up writing when he was turned, I think."

Anne frowned a little. "I'm sorry to hear it. He wasn't _that_ bad, you know," she added in earnest defense.

Joyce patted her hand and gathered the detritus from the coffee table as Buffy reentered and flopped into the chair with exaggerated drama. Joyce heard Dawn's door close and moments later Dawn was peeking around the corner.

"So is Angel coming or what?"

"Were you on the line the whole time?" Buffy huffed indignantly.

"You mean for the parts where you were 'Oh, Angel, I miss you. No, Buffy, I miss you…'" Buffy leapt from the chair but Joyce deftly stepped between the two sisters before things could degenerate into violence.

"Dawn, we've talked about eavesdropping. One week," she declared.

"Mom!"

"No arguments young lady."

Dawn pouted and flung herself into the armchair a moment before Buffy could reach it. Buffy rolled her eyes and sat beside Mrs. Pratt on the sofa.

"So Spike's really getting a soul for Xander? That's so romantic." Dawn opined, wistfully.

Buffy looked disgusted. "Were you listening in on the same conversation I was having? Because as far as romance goes, I'm not sure brutal physical combat and insanity ranks up there."

Dawn coughed into her fist, a sound suspiciously like "Drusilla."

Buffy frowned. "Point," she sighed. "Yeah, Angel's on his way. Can we make up the cot in the basement?"

"I'll see what I can do," Joyce told her. "Meanwhile, why don't you girls see about making up the couch for Mrs. Pratt."

"Oh, I don't wish to cause difficulty," Anne protested, awkwardly getting to her feet as Buffy began shifting the furniture around to accommodate the pullout.

"It's no problem," Buffy assured her. Anne fidgeted nervously. Buffy paused in her vigorous furniture redistribution. "You'll want to be here when Angel comes. He can probably explain things better than I can."

"He is the other vampire with a soul?"

"The only other I know of."

"And he…is he happy?"

Buffy frowned. Anne shrank back and her hopeful expression fell. Buffy rallied and placed a hand on her arm, smiling sadly. "He's as happy as anyone else with a soul."

Anne nodded thoughtfully. Joyce, overhearing the exchange from the kitchen smiled to herself until she heard Anne ask, "Miss Summers, who is Drusilla?"

* * *

  
Manon left Xander at his basement door and how strange was it that being walked home by women half his size wasn't even worth a blip on his masculine pride radar anymore? He was exhausted and fell face first into the pullout without undressing or turning on any lights. Minutes passed. Xander sneezed. Sleep refused to come.

He thought back to a night he and Spike spent under the stars in the backyard on his old sleeping bag. Xander gestured emphatically while telling funny stories about Jesse and he sleeping rough the summer after sixth grade. Spike laughed and blew smoke rings. It felt really good to remember his friend without tragic looks from Buffy and Giles or Willow's unaffected posturing. Xander had a good life, good job, good…whatever the hell you wanted to call Spike. But he needed to remember the good times before everything became life or death. He needed that connection to innocence. It reminded him that the people they fought for weren't just ignorant plebs on the days when he was covered in blood and ichor. They were boys sleeping in back yard tents for a taste of freedom and little red headed girls bringing lemonade and cookies to be a part of the gang.

Spike got that. Spike got him. You had to love what you fought for. Had to love humanity if you were going to keep saving it. Xander was a man who loved vampires and slayers and witches and watchers. Sometimes he didn't feel all that human anymore, himself. So he kept Jesse close to his heart and remembered.

The phone rang just as he was drifting off. He groped blindly for it and brought it to his ear.

"Yeah."

"Hey, Xan, it's Buffy. Did I wake you up?"

"Not quite," Xander stretched and propped himself up on his elbow. "What's up?"

"Angel's coming. I thought maybe he might be able to help with Spike."

Xander blinked.

"I mean, well, look, nobody would blame you if you didn't want to deal with him."

"Buffy…"

"He hurt you Xander."

Xander sighed, and rubbed his eyes. They felt like they were going to explode. He hoped it wasn't a sinus infection.

"Yeah, he did, but I've been divinely charged with forgiving him."

"We can still do this, Xander."

"I know, and I appreciate the thought, Buff, I really do, but I think I can handle this."

"Are you sure?"

"No, but I still love the bastard so I'll figure it out as I go."

"Should I tell Angel not to come?"

Xander dropped the phone and raced to the bathroom to grab a tissue before sneezing violently. He checked the Kleenex. _Eww_. He disposed of it and grabbed the phone.

"Xander? Are you okay?"

Xander sniffled.

"Ub, yeah. Just think I'b cobbing down with sobething."

"That doesn't sound good. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea if Angel was here. Just in case."

Xander groaned and clutched his aching head.

"Yeah, maybe."

"Kay, well, I'll call you when he gets in so we can powwow. Get some sleep, Xander."

"Will do. Night, Buff."

"Night Xander."

Xander dropped the phone and passed out.

* * *

  
The hand on his shoulder wasn't Spike's. It was small and bony and was notably restricting itself to a firm shake, bordering on bruising. Definitely not Spike.

"Xander, your friends are upstairs. Are you all right?"

"Mrph?" he asked his pillow.

"You're burning up, baby. I'll tell them to come back later."

Xander felt his mother's cold hand on his forehead, which stirred him to consciousness enough to realize _his friends were upstairs_.

"I'm up!" Xander shot up to a sitting position then groaned as his stomach turned and the room spun. He winced and squinted in the afternoon light. _Shit. Should have called in_. "How long have they been here?"

"Not long enough to find the album of bathtub pictures."

As she had assured him, they weren't pouring over images of his naked toddlerhood. Angel and Buffy were, however, seated uneasily on his parent's threadbare sofa clutching plastic glasses. Fruit punch, if Xander had to guess.

"Fruit punch?" he asked.

"Orange drink," Buffy clarified.

"We're a sophisticated bunch." Xander paused to ward off a sneeze. "So what brigs you to my hubble abode?"

Angel shifted his glass awkwardly to the coffee table. "Buffy said you needed some help with Spike."

Xander tried to glare at Buffy but it hurt his sinuses to furrow his brow.

"Xander, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" Buffy looked at him in abject fear and he realized he probably looked like he was going to cry. Stupid sinus pressure. Stupid Angel. Stupid, stupid Powers.

"I'm not crying, I'm trying to frown but it hurts so lets just take it as read that I disapprove strongly."

"Xander, you have no idea what caring for Spike is going to entail," Angel began in his usual, supercilious tone. The fact that he had helped avenge Spike and defend his claim as Master of Sunnydale had earned him enough goodwill to spare him a hearty _fuck off_, but being talked down to in his parents living room was a special hell he'd hoped to never revisit, and he sure as hell wasn't taking that trip with Angel.

"Back the condescension truck up a minute, brood boy. Why don't you just tell me what you think I need to know and let me decide whether or not I can handle it before riding to my rescue."

Angel shared a glance with Buffy, who shrugged. Xander rolled his eyes. Angel spoke. "He'll probably be injured, maybe badly. He'll probably be insane and he might not want to feed. He might not remember anything, or he might remember everything. He's going to be a different man than the one that left here. Is that something you think you can cope with?"

"Yup. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to go call and beg to keep my job, take an inadvisable amount of cold medication and sleep until patrol tonight. We good?"

"Xander, you're sick! How can you—"

"Just drop it Buffy!" Xander snapped angrily. "The Powers didn't give me a choice here, and even if they did I wouldn't—I'm not going to leave him to deal with this on his own. Please don't make this harder than it's already going to be."

Angel and Buffy left, exchanging sad, worried looks that just made him angrier.

Xander called work, took pills and went back to bed, hopelessly afraid the man that came back from Africa would want nothing to do with him. Wouldn't remember him. Would be beyond his help. Xander _was_ out of his depth. Hopelessly so.

At least he could cry without worrying he was making his headache worse than it already was.

* * *

  
Anya flipped the sign to **CLOSED** on the door and ran through the shop, past the research table, past the cashwrap, through the training room door, dodged the heavy bag and slammed the backdoor open. Dawn immediately squeezed past her followed by Buffy, Angel, Willow and Tara.

"We've got twenty minutes before Giles gets back. Where's Riley?"

Buffy sighed. "I don't know. He's been disappearing guy lately. Let's just do this."

Back in the shop, Anya pulled out a thick stack of books from behind the register. "I found these earlier today. I though they might have something to help."

Everyone took a book and began researching.

"Forgetting spells?" Willow asked.

Anya shrugged. "You asked for mental health spells. Not surprisingly, there aren't many. I mean, if we wanted to make Xander crazier than a shithouse rat to keep Spike company, _that_ we could do." She suggested perkily.

The others looked at her askance. "I think we'll stick with trying to un-crazy Spike, Anya," Buffy said wryly. "Ooh! Heartsease Potion! How about this one Will?"

Willow took the book from Buffy and skimmed the passage. "Well, this might work actually…" Willow chewed her lip anxiously.

"But…" Buffy prompted.

Tara and Willow exchanged a look. "I don't think it would be a good idea to try it without Giles," Tara answered. "Heartsease is powerful and if we got it wrong, well, it could be really, really bad."

"How bad?" asked Dawn.

"Amnesia bad," said Willow, softly. "I just…"

"I know sweetie," Tara said quietly. "But it's best to be cautious. Xander and Spike don't need Shakespearian farce to make things worse than they already are."

Willow nodded soberly as the shop bell rung. Everyone froze.

"Forgot my keys, Anya have you—" Giles stopped as he saw everyone. "I see. What's going on?" He asked, with a dangerous warning note in his voice.

Everyone froze. Dawn nudged Buffy. Buffy gave Angel a challenging look. Angel looked pleadingly at Willow who gave a panic-stricken shrug.

Anya slammed her book on the table. A cloud of dust rose up. Tara coughed.

"We're looking for a way to restore Spike's sanity," she stated baldly.

Giles looked from person to person to ascertain the veracity of her statement and found no contradiction in their expressions.

"Yes, well, while I find it perfectly reasonable that Spike may have taken leave of his senses, why don't you indulge me with an explanation anyway."

Buffy rubbed her eyes wearily. "Spike's mom found out he was a vamp. She freaked, Spike spazzed, he's getting a soul now."

"Willow, you—"

"Not me! Nuh uh. Not this time."

"There's a demon in Africa that can grant boons if a petitioner survives a trial it imposes," Angel clarified.

"If he survives," Dawn added quietly.

"I see."

Willow gave Tara a questioning look. Tara's eyes widened and her head shook slightly. Willow ignored her.

"Giles, we've found a potion, that might help Spike when he comes back—"

"If he comes back," Dawn qualified.

"Way to be a positive thinker, Dawn," Buffy muttered.

Willow sent them a quelling look and redressed Giles. "—The Heartsease Potion? Only, I've never worked with it before and I, well, Tara, suggested that you should probably help—I mean, supervise! Only! You wouldn't have to do much, just, if you could make sure I'm following all the steps and, you know, I kind of substitute too much and well, kerblewy—but I think this would really help a lot!"

Giles came around the table to look at the page she gestured to, reading silently over Tara's shoulder. "You believe the soul will drive Spike mad?"

Angel tried unsuccessfully to catch Giles eye. "It's likely. There isn't much precedent, but it's probable that the remorse would make the demon fairly intractable," He told Giles carefully.

"And?"

"Giles, what—" Buffy began.

"I fail to see why this should concern me. He is a demon. If he's foolish enough to seek after condemnation, let him experience it in the fullest."

"It's not that simple," Angel told him.

"Isn't it?"

"Xander was visited by the Powers that Be," Angel explained. "Spike's mother showing up and everything that followed was mechanized to this end."

"Xander told you this?"

"Giles what are you—" Willow began.

"I don't believe I can take his word alone. Xander's integrity is rather compromised on the matter, I believe."

"What?" Buffy shouted. Willow gasped in shock. The others stared with open expressions of incredulity. "Please explain to me why it sounded like you just called Xander a liar," Buffy demanded.

Giles snorted unkindly. "Yes, forgive me, you all are impeccably truthful where your love lives are concerned, I'd forgotten."

"Giles, that's not the point. I get that you don't like Spike. I think you've made that abundantly clear. But like him or not, Xander loves him. I love Xander. If Spike comes back and…things go badly…" Buffy trailed off and looked at Angel, something that did not go unnoticed by Giles, whose expression hardened further, "Giles can't you do this for him?"

"I am doing precisely what I think is best for Xander."

Angel shot to his feet with a stormy look. "Damn it, Giles, do you have no idea what you're doing to the boy? How is he supposed to care for Spike without your support?" Angel shouted, an Irish accent creeping in with anger and remembered pain. "You're whittling away his confidence by inches with your high-handed disapproval. He looks to you to show him how to be a man, for God's sake, don't turn your back on him!" The shop rang with Angel's words.

Giles looked down and coolly polished his glasses. "I'm not his father."

Giles looked up at the sound of the bench scraping across the floor. Willow stood before him, eyes stricken and lip quivering. With a resounding crack, she laid a stinging blow across his cheek. Without another word, she turned and walked out of the shop. Tara followed closely behind without meeting his eyes. Buffy gathered her things and Dawn spared him a look of disgust as she followed behind her sister. Angel clenched his fists and followed suit. Seemingly unperturbed, Anya went about collecting the abandoned texts, setting aside the reference to the Heartsease Potion and quietly reshelved them. Giles opened his mouth to speak. Anya cut him off.

"I don't like you right now either," she told him matter-of-factly, gathering her red purse from behind the register. Her heels echoed loudly on the floors of the nearly empty shop. And the bell rang with perverse cheer as she once again pulled open the front door with excessive force. "Don't forget to lock up."

The door swung shut and Giles watched her go.

* * *

  
Xander tossed and turned fitfully, shaking and chilled with fever until a warm weight settled over him and the novel, soothing comfort of additional blankets roused him.

"Mom," he called out groggily, without opening his eyes, "I thought you had to work…"

Someone timidly cleared their throat and Xander opened his sleep-encrusted eyes and flinched. Anne Pratt sat perched on the edge of the barcalounger, regarding him apologetically.

"Mrs. Pratt," he said stupidly. "How did you get in?"

"The key above the doorjamb. Miss Summers told me."

Xander looked around for his shirt and came up empty. "Right. Um, Spike's not here."

"No, he isn't. I came to speak with you, if you don't mind."

Xander self-consciously pulled the covers under his arms as he struggled to sit up. Anne was at his side a moment later, propping pillows behind his back. Xander looked at her in surprise.

"You are in love with my son," she said plainly.

Xander looked searchingly at her. "Yes, I am."

"Even knowing what he is?"

Xander regarded her warily. "Yes."

"And how do you understand it?" She asked sincerely, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You mean, him being a vampire? Um, well…" Xander blanched. "Did Buffy or Joyce tell you about it, because I'm not sure—"

"—Is it the demon or the man you love, Mr. Harris?"

Xander's eyes widened. "Um, both I guess."

"But the demon and—and William, are so dissimilar."

Xander smiled, warming to his subject. "You can't really separate them out like that. Spike's a demon, but, I think it's more like he's a really intense, distilled version of William. He's still passionate and a romantic at heart, only now when he falls in love with you he's more likely to kill all your enemies than write you a sonnet."

"You believe the two are—are one?"

Before he could answer a voice behind him answered softly, "Nay, we are seven."

Xander's head whipped around to see Spike, standing ragged and worn, hair askew, dried blood over half his face in his doorway, dusk's light casting him in darkly beautiful shadows and planes and Xander could tell he hadn't fed well since his abrupt departure.

"Spike," he said hoarsely. Spike looked confused and about to say something else when he abruptly pitched forward and Xander was suddenly on his feet and bearing him up.

"Xander?" Spike asked, his hand tracing the slope of his nose. He seemed drunk but Xander knew it was likely much, much worse.

"I'm here, what is it?"

"I missed you." Spike suddenly sagged, unconscious. With fear and relief, Xander choked back a sob and laid Spike on the bed, too wrung out to do more than gently arrange the covers around his battered form before sinking down beside him and allowing his fever to carry him into oblivion as well, unmindful of the tears soaking his lover's shoulder or the watchful eye of Mrs. Pratt as she arranged the blanket around his shoulders and solemnly and quietly shut the door behind her as she left.


	7. Chapter 7

Xander woke with a crick in his neck, a taste like week old vomit in his mouth and a vampire perched cheerily on his knees, vibrating energetically. Suddenly his field of vision was filled with something red and shiny. Xander reached up and took the apple Spike thrust in his face.

"Ruddy apple, ruddy cheek," he sing-songed before bouncing up and Xander got a clear look at Spike's wounds for the first time. There wasn't a stitch of clothing on him.

"Spike, where are your clothes?"

Spike turned on the spot and laughed as if surprised to suddenly find himself naked. "Planted a garden. Drew the daisies all along the flowerbeds beneath the tea maidens."

Xander stared. "Thanks for clearing that up." He shook his head and padded into the bathroom, setting the tub to fill. "Spike why don't you come in here and let me take a look at those cuts," he called out. Xander turned and jumped as Spike materialized behind him.

"I'm going to take care of you, Xan," Spike told him, cupping his cheek.

Xander smiled, took his hand and kissed his palm. "I'm counting on it."

Spike was mostly quiet while Xander got the worst of the blood and muck off him, grunting slightly as hardened bits of ichor were worked loose from his hair. He held his arms like a posable doll while Xander gently cleaned the deeper wounds and claw marks on his torso. Spike shied away, though, when the washcloth neared the shallow lacerations on his chest, rubbing at the welts spaced finger widths apart. Spike brought his knees to his chest and began rocking.

"No, Xan, mustn't. I'm _trying_, can't you see that? Got to keep it together…can't mind the boy with no mind…mustn't listen…mustn't listen…"

"Okay!" Xander held up his hands. "I won't touch! I'm just gonna…brush my teeth, okay? Over here?"

_Jesus Christ it is too damn early for this_. Xander thought, turning on the water in the sink.

For the moment, that seemed to calm him. Spike turned the tap on for more hot water and Xander caught his smirk out of the corner of his eye and had to laugh.

"Nice to know some things never change," he said, bringing the toothbrush to his mouth.

"_Xander Harris is fine and fair, Combing down his auburn hair. He's my friend for evermore, Pretty Xander Harris_," Spike sang quietly, before slipping down beneath the surface of the water, which would have been creepier if he hadn't done it all the time before shaking his last screw loose.

Xander threw his toothbrush in the glass by the sink and knelt beside the tub. The phone rang and Spike sputtered and surfaced.

"Bell horses, time to away," he said.

"Yeah, I'm just going to get that," Xander said. "You okay for a minute?"

Spike nodded distractedly and Xander left him, grabbing the phone off the receiver by the bed.

"Yeah, Buff, Hey. Yeah, I know you have class soon. Could Angel come by? Yeah, Spike's home. Right, I'll let him know. Thanks, Buff. Bye."

Meanwhile, Spike had grown agitated. Xander returned and found him rocking and sloshing the water over the edge of the tub.

"Spike…Spike, you all right? Come on, I was gone for a _second_! Spike?"

Xander was getting worried. Xander wound his fingers into Spike's still wet hair. "Spike, _Spike_, look at me," Xander told him firmly. Spike stopped rocking and obeyed. "I love you, but you're scaring me with the crazy, okay?"

"No! No, not crazy, can't, can't be, I have to take care of you Xan, wasted too much time already, hurt you too much, I can't…please…just, the _screaming_, it won't _stop_, Xan, it won't _stop_…"

Xander gathered Spike into his arms, "Hey, hey, it's okay. It's alright!"

Xander sat there with a lap full of Spike, a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, rocking him and thinking fast. _How in the name of God's pretty pink sneakers am I going to fix him?_ When the tremors lessened and Spike had mostly cried himself out, Xander gave him a cursory toweling off and carried him to bed, his flu weakened muscles protesting every step and he knew he was going to pay for his gallantry later. Spike curled around him and fell asleep practically the moment his head hit the pillow, which in this case, was mostly Xander's right thigh. He carded his fingers through Spikes hair and banged the back of his head softly against the wall before breaking down and dialing Buffy's.

"Yeah, It's me again. Tell Angel to hurry."

* * *

  
Out of the corner of his eye, Xander saw Spike flinch in his sleep. He turned another page of _The Uncanny X-Men_ and waited to see if it was a random sleep twitch (and God knew the bastard could thrash in his sleep for England) or if it was a sign of…more.

A moment passed and with it another flinch, followed by half articulated protests, snarls and flinging of blankets, and _oh yes_, this was definitely a nightmare. Xander threw the comic on the floor beside the chair and crawled awkwardly across the bed to Spike, keeping one hand out to block any wild swings that might clip him before he could gentle the freaking vampire.

"Spike," he crooned, "Spike, it's Xander, shh, Spike, it's okay, hey, it's all right…"

Finally he was able to shift Spike into his lap, rocking him awkwardly and stroking his hair, anything to stop the heartbreaking sobs and pleas.

The backdoor slammed upstairs and Xander sighed a heartfelt "_Fuck_," knowing his mother had finished her shift and was going to be coming downstairs to find out who the hell was being tortured if he couldn't get Spike quiet.

"Come on, baby, please, it's Xander, don't cry, you're all right, everything's fine…"

Armani clad ankles cast a shadow into the room as they passed the basement window and Xander would have cursed every unearthly power known to him and a few he made up on the spot if he hadn't been afraid of making things worse for the man shaking in fear, albeit more quietly now. Spike let out a last broken sob, "Xander!" before he seemed to register who was holding him and suddenly Spike's fingers were clinging to Xander's shirt hard enough to rip holes if he hadn't doubled over him, still rocking as Spike gradually cried himself back to sleep.

Angel hadn't made a move to enter and Xander rolled his eyes in irritation at his reluctance. _Whatever, Angel, stay out there, then. Hope you can find a shady spot._

Upstairs was silent. Maybe his mom chalked it up to the TV or was too tired to care. Xander felt hot tears prickling behind his eyes and tried to blink them away. Spike was still as the grave once again, but Xander couldn't put him down, couldn't stop moving. He renewed his grip, suddenly tired and scared and so, so angry. Angry at the Powers, angry with Giles, angry with Spike's mother.

Angry with Spike.

"I needed, you, you son of a bitch, and you weren't here." Xander kept his voice low, still rocking Spike protectively, his body at war with the rage and indignation that was overwhelming him. "I had to move back into this shithole and kiss my dad's ass to do it and you know what he said to me? Not a damn thing. Like it wasn't a surprise, like he expected nothing else. Fuck, I'm so mad at you right now, you stupid, stupid, vampire! I can't believe you did this! I don't know what you were thinking." Xander's voice broke as he glanced down. "I would have come back if you'd just asked. Didn't have to…

"God, we are so fucked up!" Xander hastily wiped an errant tear off his face. "I can kill Nazi vampires with a song in my heart and righteous anger flowing through my veins but the thought of telling my dad I'm in love with you has me practically pissing myself in fear." Xander snorted self-deprecatingly. "Don't know where I got off giving you shit about your mother." Xander stopped rocking abruptly and shifted to lay Spike gently back on the bed. He pulled the covers back up around him. Xander kissed Spike's forehead and caressed his cheek. "I'm sorry she took everything so bad. I'm sorry I wasn't there when she found out. I'm sorry you had to go through that alone." Xander pulled back and dropped his head, tired and defeated.

"I'm glad you came home to me," he told him, straightening the covers, desperate for something to do with his hands. "Please be saner when you wake up. I don't know what the hell I'm doing without you."

Xander looked up as the basement door snicked shut.

"Get an earful?" He asked Angel.

"You called."

Xander ran his hands through his hair anxiously and took in a large, hitching breath.

"Yeah. I need to fix my vampire. Any ideas?"

Before Angel could speak the door opened upstairs and his mother was descending, her steps echoing thunderously loud in the room and her voice bouncing off every surface.

"Xander, are you all right? I thought I heard…oh," she stopped at the bottom of the steps taking in Xander's panicked expression, Angel's wide eyes and Spike, stirring in Xander's bed. "I didn't know you had company," she said, eyes concerned and clearly expecting an explanation.

Xander took a deep breath and tried to slow down his heart rate, wiping his palms on his jeans. Spike made a noise and Xander's eyes cut to the bed where Spike was groggily propping himself up, the blankets falling away from his bare torso, crisscrossed with angry red welts.

"Xan?" He asked weakly.

His shoulders fell. _Might as well get this over with._ Xander turned his back on his Mom and focused on Spike, hoping it would give him the strength to get through the necessary explanations without stammering like he'd been caught riding bikes with Jesse after curfew. Spike was swallowing nervously, looking from him to his mother and fortunately he seemed to grasp the gist of the situation. Xander saw him surreptitiously check that he was wearing something under the sheet. He was. Xander had found him a pair of old sweatpants, still unsure what Spike had done with his own clothes. He smiled reassuringly at Spike and squeezed his hand, sitting beside him on the bed.

Turning back to face his mom, he said. "Mom, this is Spike."

She obviously still felt wrong-footed, but her expression hardened minutely. "This the one that threw you out?" She asked, and Xander loved her a little bit more for it.

He was about to say something, anything to explain, but Spike beat him to it. "I was a prize fool," he said quietly.

"Damn right," she answered quickly.

"Mom!" Xander exclaimed, mortified. Spike was smiling, though. "It's—it's fine. We worked our stuff out."

Jessica didn't look convinced. "Is he all right? He doesn't look so good—you don't look so good," she told him.

"Didn't do so well without Xander. Feeling much better now, though," he said, squeezing his hand slightly beneath the blanket. He sounded so lucid Xander hoped it was true.

"Are you sick?" She asked, clearly remembering Xander's own turn for the infirm and Xander could almost see her hands twitching with the urge to mother him.

"Yeah, he's sick," Xander answered quickly, hoping to appeal to her compassion. For a moment, he saw sympathy flicker behind her eyes before suspicion rapidly replaced it and was joined by hysterical paranoia.

"What's wrong with him? Oh, God, Xander does he have the AIDS? Are you sick, baby?"

"AIDS? What? No! Mom, no I'm fine, Spike doesn't have AIDS—"

"Oh Jesus, Alexander—"

"_Mom, nobody has AIDS_!"

Apparently the raised voices had unsettled Spike once again. His knees were pulled up and he was rocking again and seemed to be humming to himself.

"Xander…" Angel warned.

Xander saw Spike's agitation and tried to diffuse the situation, but his mother was already in full-on panic mode, wringing her hands and crying.

"Oh, God, Xander, no, not that, not that, you can't be sick, I raised you better than that, didn't I? I know I wasn't a perfect mother and God knows I made mistakes, but you were always such a good boy—"

"Mom, please shut up now," he said through clenched teeth as Spike's humming rose to a keening pitch.

"Oh please, God, not my baby!" She wailed and suddenly Spike shot up out of the bed and ran for the door.

"Spike!" Angel yelled, the same time Xander cried out, "Shit!" and ran to catch him before he could incinerate himself, yanking the topmost blanket off the bed as he went.

Two steps ahead of him Spike darted out into the yard, barely protected by the shadow of the overhanging roof and the scrubby trees bordering their neighbor's property. Dodging just out of his grasp, Spike ran for the overgrown partial hedgerow of brambles.

"Spike!" he yelled. Spike stopped suddenly and turned, smiling before grasping a fistful of foliage and yanking, holding it out to Xander as he ran back toward the house. Xander all but tackled him in the blanket and hustled him inside.

"Jesus Christ, Spike, what the hell were you thinking!" Xander shouted, yanking him out from under the blanket. Spike shifted the sad looking fistful of nightshade and raspberry flowers to his other hand, holding it out to Xander's mother with absurd formality.

"Jesus, Spike, your hand," Xander fussed, the thorns having torn his palm nearly to shreds, it was bleeding steadily. Without looking to see his mother's expression, he grabbed the first aid kit off the tool bench and sat on the bed, mending Spike's hand as he stood, still proffering the flowers to his mother. He dared a glance at Angel and saw him regarding Spike with an odd expression.

Spike cleared his throat. "To say sorry," he explained. "Raspberry."

Xander looked up again at his mother and saw her swallow. "Remorse," she clarified, and Spike smiled.

"With a difference. Belladonna—"

"_Sorcery_?" Asked Angel. Jessica shook her head and took the bundle from Spike's hand.

"Truth. Thank you Spike." Xander looked at his mother strangely. "I told you not to make fun of my Barbara Cartland," she told him smugly.

Spike sat heavily on the bed, upsetting the box with the tweezers and gauze and Xander made an annoyed sound.

"Cut them in July, then they will die," Spike said solemnly and Xander's breath hitched.

"_William_?" Angel asked, hesitantly.

Spike looked up, eyes lost. "I—I don't know," he said quietly. Xander tied off the gauze around Spike's hand and reflexively pressed a kiss into his palm before packing up the kit. No one else moved.

"Xander, he's not sick, is he," she confirmed.

He sighed and tossed the kit back onto the bench with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. "No," he said.

"Xander," Angel began, "I think it might be better if Spike came with me."

"No," Xander said the same time Spike asked "Angel?"

"You can't do this by yourself, Xander. He's too unstable—"

"What's wrong with him?" Jessica asked.

Angel looked at Xander expectantly. Xander stared back irritably. Angel shrugged helplessly. _Tell her if you want_, the gesture said. Xander sighed.

"Mom, sit down. You're probably not going to believe this."

"You're in love with a crazy person who speaks Victorian flower language. Try me."

Xander snorted. "Fine, have it your way. Spike's a vampire. We fell in love, he broke my heart, went to get his soul back to make it up to me because apparently Hallmark doesn't make a 'Sorry, I didn't know how to tell my temporally displaced Victorian mother about our gay love' card and now his demon and human soul are duking it out in his psyche. That about cover it?" He asked the two vamps. Angel grimaced and Spike looked stricken. Xander felt like a tactless, immature bully and pinched the bridge of his nose angrily before drawing Spike against his side, kissing the top of his head and muttering "Sorry," into his hair. Spike nodded infinitesimally.

"Vampires?" Jessica asked. Xander and Angel nodded. "_You're_ not—" she began.

"No, Mom, just Spike and Angel."

"Him too?"

"Yes, ma'am," Angel answered. Jessica was quiet for a long time.

"You know the Richardsons _said_ Hank fell on a barbeque fork but I never did buy it. The Richardsons don't even have a grill, for Christ's sake."

Xander snorted. "You believe me?"

Jessica nodded. "You're a good boy, Xander. You should tell your father. He never bought the barbeque fork story, either."

Xander scoffed openly. "Yeah, I'm sure that'd go well."

"Give him a chance, Alexander."

"Mom…"

Jessica threw up her hands. "Fine, I'll let it go. _For now_."

"_Thank you_," he told her sincerely.

"Xander—" Angel began.

"_No_. Look, you're right, we can't stay here. But I'm not leaving him alone and I'm sure as hell not leaving him with _you_."

"I'm not going to hurt him Xander."

Xander sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

"Xan," Spike said softly, "Can we go home?"

His heart clenched. "Is that what you want?"

Spike nodded. Xander squeezed his hand. "Okay, then, that's what we'll do. I'll ask Manon to stay as long as it takes to get you back up to fighting form and Alvaro can stay with you when I go to work if Angel decides he's sick of you."

"And Mother?" Spike asked softly.

Xander sighed. "I'm not kicking her out. I think she's still staying at Buffy's at the moment, but she can come with us too."

"Are you sure?"

"Jesus, Spike, yes, I'm sure! We made our peace, it's all right."

Spike smiled beatifically. "Thank you, Xan."

"No problem," he said, then addressed Angel. "Now can we sort out Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, here?"

Angel scowled. "Spike," he said, opting to ignore Xander entirely. "Right now, when you're stressed, scared, hungry or upset your demon is going to want to do what it's always done, but your soul probably has conflicting instincts. You have to find a way to get the demon and soul to agree. You need a focus. I found mine when Whistler first showed me Buffy. The demon was drawn to her power and the soul wanted to help her and from then on, they were able to work together, more or less, by focusing everything on Buffy. Once the demon got used to going along with the soul's instincts to help her, keeping the demon in check got easier."

"You left her," Spike said matter-of-factly.

"Because it was the best thing _for_ her. And the soul was able to find other things to focus on, eventually. Do you understand?"

"M'not leaving Xan."

Angel rubbed his eyes wearily. "I'm not asking you to. Look, when was the last time you fed?"

Spike looked shakily at Xander and he could see the conflict within him for a moment. "Last night, I think."

"Right. You're hungry. Your demon says get some blood. Your brain says you can't bite anyone, so get a bag of blood out of the fridge and microwave it for thirty seconds. But your soul says drinking blood is wrong. Is that about right?"

Spike nodded shakily. Angel continued. "So what you need to do is to explain things to William in a way he'll understand. You don't need to talk to him out loud—" Angel added, seeing Spike's dubious expression. "Cordelia thinks I spend three hours a day on the roof 'meditating' because acting like a sad bastard is so Zen. Mostly, I'm trying to broker a truce between Angelus and Liam, but it looks less crazy with your eyes closed, sitting in a half lotus."

Spike snorted, "Not likely, mate."

Angel rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Spike. That man sitting beside you? He loves you. William included. Just explain to William that you need your demonic strength to protect your lover and for that, drinking blood is a small sacrifice to make. Should be enough for the little poet, don't you think?" Angel added smugly.

Spike glared, but seemed to consider what he said. His eyes drifted for a moment and Xander suspected Spike was telling William exactly that. Suddenly Spike smiled and relaxed.

"Cheers, mate!" he said, getting up and going over to the fridge to withdraw a bag of blood.

"Xander, you've been keeping blood in my fridge?" Jessica asked in disgust.

Xander shrugged. "Did that really work?" He asked Spike.

Spike smiled and popped the bag in the microwave. "Seemed to, yeah. Got any other nifty tricks, Peaches?"

"I'm afraid that's the best I've got. Maybe buy Xander some earplugs. The worst of the nightmares should taper off after a decade or so, but then again you might get lucky. You never really went in for the torture as much as the kill as I recall."

Spike shook his head agreeably. "That was you an' Darla with the psychological bollocks. Dru never had the attention span for it."

Angel nodded thoughtfully, sparing a glance to Jessica to see how she was handling this candid discussion of demonic natures. She was quiet but seemed more interested than disturbed.

"Boys, as fascinating as this is, I have things to do before your father gets home," she told Xander.

Xander shook his head and snapped out of his rapt contemplation of his lover. "Hmm? Oh, yeah, sure Mom, go ahead. Sorry that I just kind of dumped all this on you," he said.

Jessica shook her head and put a warm hand on his shoulder as she stood. "I took a Percocet before I came down, but I'm glad your friend will be all right. Are you gonna be happy now?" She asked, seriously.

"Yeah, I think so. Um, I'll probably be moving back out tonight."

"I have to work a double shift tomorrow, you'll have to get your friends to help."

"Yeah, no problem, Mom."

"Good. Give me a kiss before you go. It was nice meeting you Spike," she told him. Spike smiled and raised his mug to her.

"Mrs. Harris."

Xander saw his mom upstairs and Xander turned to Spike.

"You really feeling better?" He asked.

Spike set the mug in the sink to soak then walked up behind Xander and wrapped his arms around his waist. "Don't know that it's all sorted just yet, but it's a little quieter in my head, that's certain."

Xander released a breath he felt like he'd been holding for two days and tightened his grip on Spike's arms. "Then let's get the hell out of here."

"Oh, thank Christ, this basement smells like the rancid socks of the damned."


	8. Chapter 8

Xander had more important things to worry about than what anyone said about him and Spike. Like somehow living with his half-insane vampire boyfriend and his mother in the same space without losing his damn mind.

Things like that. Unfortunately his nervous stomach disagreed.

Xander tried to enter the Magic Box with an attitude of confidence. The girls beamed at him, open and welcoming. A very positive start to his new life as a confident, gay-identified, bisexual man with a dependant vampire, he thought.

Giles looked up from the sword he was cleaning but immediately returned to it with no acknowledgement of his presence.

It was then Xander realized he'd seen Giles angry, furious, livid, beside himself with rage and grief—occasionally even directed at himself—but indifferent Giles was new. Indifferent Giles was something he and his stomach were utterly unprepared for.

His body made a noise that did nothing to reinforce his confidence.

"Xander! What are you doing here? Is Spike okay?" Willow asked, laying her hand on his arm gently. Xander took a deep breath and unclenched his fists.

"I think he will be." He said with a grin more reminiscent of partial facial paralysis than happiness. "He's with Angel. I just stopped by to let you gals know that I'm moving back in with him. Spike's mom too."

"I'm sure Spike's mom and the American Chiropractic Association thanks you," Buffy quipped.

Willow let out a relieved sigh. "Oh, Xander I'm so glad everything is working out. Aren't you glad, Giles?" She added with a similar death-rictus grin.

He noticed Giles was no longer upholding the pretense of ignoring him and was nervously shifting a small bottle between his hands. Suddenly possessed of curiosity and the balls to back it up, he found himself asking, "Got something you want to say, Giles?"

Giles let out a breath, either in irritation or relief, and glanced over at the girls before he held out the bottle to Xander. "Here. One tablespoon before he sleeps should ease the worst of the night terrors. Two if need be."

Xander accepted Giles' overture with sweaty palms and pathetic relief. Giles nodded curtly and went back to cleaning the weaponry but for the first time since he'd arrived, Xander didn't feel the vertiginous sensation of having been cut loose from his family, his tribe, his chosen people. No longer feeling he was about to be run out at any moment, he decided to sit and enjoy the feeling of belonging for a few moments more, contentedly listening to the goings on of his friends without taking in a word.

For the first time in several months, Xander felt happy to be there.

* * *

  
Spike's offer to help Xander unpack was rebuffed and he sat reading a magazine on their bed while Xander finished hanging his clothes in their wardrobe. He'd been over-solicitous and distant since returning from the Magic Box and Spike didn't quite know what to make of it. Somehow Xander's return was feeling more and more like a stay-of-execution than a full pardon and he found himself watching and waiting for the axe to fall.

"Well that's everything," Xander said cheerily, tossing his duffle toward the back of the wardrobe. "Are you all right? Do you need anything?"

Spike turned a page and continued reading the article. "M'fine."

"More blood?" Xander asked.

Spike smirked at the sight of Xander fidgeting. "Still digesting the three quarts you gave me an hour ago."

"Oh. Right." Xander fiddled with the change tray on the dresser for a moment before he finally turned to go. "Um, kay well I'll just let you get some rest."

_Oh for the love…_ "Xander…" Spike said, staying him with a word and rising smoothly from the bed. He approached him carefully, broadly telegraphing his intentions with rolling hips and bedroom eyes and Xander still startled when he took his hand, jerking it away as if he was burned.

"I mean, jeez, it's two in the afternoon, you must be exhausted—"

"Why won't you touch me?"

Xander took his hand, barely caressing the top of his fingers with his thumb. "How's that?" He asked, refusing to meet Spike's eyes.

Spike snorted and ran his other hand up Xander's arm, eliciting a shiver. When his hand reached his face, he pulled him down for a slow, sweet kiss. He let out a groan and Xander disengaged, breathing heavily and eyes dilated.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Xander..." Spike moaned breathlessly, twisting his hands in Xander's shirt.

Xander's voice cracked. "You buried your duster in a shallow grave under my mom's hydrangea."

Spike took his earlobe between his teeth before panting out, "Xan, I need this. I need to feel you again. I need us _normal_, all right? Please." Spike's hand crept under his shirt and found and rubbed one stiffened peak.

Xander bucked against him. "Oh, God." Xander furiously began pulling at Spike's shirt, tearing it over his head before plunging back in, his kiss hard and punishing, hands trailing beneath the waist of his jeans as Spike's quick fingers made short work of the buttons on Xander's shirt.

"Need you so much…" Spike breathed, hands grasping, greedily soaking up Xander's touch. Warm, calloused hands traversed his body, and Spike finally felt that he'd come home. He tried to surround himself with Xander, every familiar touch offering the absolution he craved. But where he was slow and tender, Xander was rough and impatient.

Spike realized Xander was muttering under his breath.

"Gonna make you feel it…gonna make sure you _know…_"

Spike quelled a sudden rush of guilt and wondered how evil it was that the slightly unhinged and possessive look in Xander's eye made him harder.

_Right. Gift horses and all that._

Suddenly, the frenzied touching, the relentless grinding, the hard, teeth rattling kisses stopped and Spike found himself abruptly tied to the headboard. Xander nipped the spot below his ear and Spike whimpered slightly as a finger traced the groove between his thigh and pelvis before it was joined by Xander's head, his tongue gently tracing the crease.

"No one else can touch you like this…no one else can make you feel the way I make you feel…"

_Oh, Christ…_ "No one…no one but you, love…" Spike panted, desperate for something, anything, to relieve the sweet ache.

Xander bit down on the inside of Spike's thigh. Spike screamed.

Xander smiled up at him, lips tinged with red and his eyes, oh his eyes knew things.

"_Not_ until I tell you…until I've taken what's _mine_. Until you've _earned it_."

Spike writhed in senseless agony, unable to feel his bonds anymore; he was floating high, tethered only to Xander's voice weaving certainty through his body. Of _course_ he wouldn't find release without say so from Xander. Anything else was _unthinkable_.

"You belong to _me_," Xander emphasized before Spike was impaled on Xander's cursorily prepared cock. The pain was exquisite. Spike opened his eyes when Xander suddenly stopped moving.

"Love?" Xander was pale and shaking slightly, his eyes terrified. "Xander, what's wrong?"

Xander's breath hitched. He released the knot binding Spike's wrists. "I don't know what I'm doing. I…I'm hurting you. I don't want to hurt you…"

Spike pulled Xander down until his head was pillowed on his still chest, hands carding through his hair. "Could have stopped you any time."

"But you wouldn't, would you? You think you deserve to be hurt. I wanted you to hurt…"

"These hurts heal quick and clean. Cleaner than I hurt you I reckon, or we'd still be fucking right now."

"Spike…"

"Shh, love, let it be. S'just for play, yeah?"

Xander shuddered slightly. "Except…I wasn't playing, Spike. Not really. I…I don't know how to deal with this. I don't know how I can love you and hate you all at once. It's all mixed up and I can't get it straight in my head from one minute to the next."

Spike stopped petting and lay still. "You want me to go?" he asked, voice devoid of inflection.

"NO! No, I don't. I just… could we, you think, maybe do this a little slower?"

Spike tilted Xander's head up to look him in the eyes and nodded. Xander's breath sobbed out of him in a rush and Spike quickly reversed their positions, Xander still firmly ensconced within his tight channel. With agonizing slowness he began fucking himself on Xander's cock. The boy's eyes shot open and suddenly Xander angled himself up to meet his thrusts. Fire shot through his spine from the point at which they were connected.

"Christ, yes, Xan, oh bloody hell, right there." With a wicked smirk, Spike _squeezed_.

Xander moaned then laughed. "Fuck, this isn't going to last long if you keep that up."

He squeezed again and Xander whimpered. Spike lifted himself again and with a snap of Xander's hips, he was filled and bucking against Xander.

Xander pleaded desperately, his cries of "Oh, please, please…" had nothing of their earlier mania. Spike relished his soft, sweet mantra and knew he would carry the memory of this frantic yet tender coupling in his thighs for days to come.

Xander thrust and writhed beneath him and "God, Xander..." Spike sobbed out his completion helplessly over his lover's body even as Xander cried out and spilled himself inside Spike.

A long moment later, Spike turned to get up to find something for cleanup only to be pulled back against Xander and held tightly. He laughed in surprise.

"No. We are never leaving this bed again. I've decided," Xander announced.

"We'll be stuck together," Spike argued.

"Don't care," Xander muttered petulantly into his hair.

"It'll itch something awful."

Xander was quiet, so quiet Spike almost missed his wistful sigh. "We're good together here."

Spike couldn't argue with that. He pulled the arm across his middle around him tighter and pressed a kiss to its hand. Xander sighed contentedly.

They lay like that for a few moments more until "Shit. Gotta pee."

Spike feigned outrage. "Not here, you won't."

"You could turn me," Xander suggested pragmatically.

"An' lose all this lovely warmth?" Spike scoffed. "I think not."

Xander snorted. "I knew you only loved me for my internal temperature regulation."

"Not a bad shag, either," Spike said, earning him a swat on the arse as Xander levered himself off the bed. "Bring us a flannel while you're up, pet."

"It's called a washcloth. Adapt already you limey bastard," he called back over his shoulder, checking that the coast was clear outside the door before bolting across the hall into the bathroom.

"Cheeky! I'll teach you to respect your elders," Spike shouted after him.

Xander was laughing easily as he reentered. "Promises, promises. Catch," he said and tossed Spike the wet cloth, which he immediately put to use while wondering when he'd see a reappearance of that lost boy and his fierce anger.

"Oh, I have something for you!" Xander announced, springing back off the bed the moment his arse touched mattress.

"What happened to staying in bed?" Spike protested.

Xander smiled enigmatically. "I think you'll like this," he said, pulling open the wardrobe doors and rooting around in the pile of dirty laundry and luggage at the bottom until he finally emerged with something.

Xander held the small, intricately tooled leather bound book out to Spike who took it with reverent hands, his finger tracing the ornate shield on the cover.

"It's a journal," Xander explained. He shifted his weight awkwardly. "I just thought maybe it might help you organize your thoughts. I mean, I know you say you don't write anymore, but I thought maybe it might help." Spike stared dumbly, touched by his thoughtfulness. "It's stupid, I'll take it back," Xander said, interpreting his silence as displeasure and startling Spike out of his sentimental reverie.

He quickly yanked the book out of Xander's reach. "Fuck that, I love it. It'll be just the thing," he told Xander resolutely. "You've no bloody idea how wonderful you are, have you?" Spike asked, pulling Xander down to sit beside him.

Xander didn't answer but he entwined their fingers together and dropped his head onto Spike's shoulder. Spike twisted his head around to kiss the top of his head.

_Please let me stop hurting him._

Spike's looked down at the journal in his lap and sent his silent prayer to whoever was listening.

* * *

  
Xander left shortly thereafter to collect Spike's mother and Spike found himself in the parlor, preparing to write for the first time in close to fifty years. Thirty minutes later, he held the fountain pen in his hand, poised above a blank page when the back door slammed. Xander found him spread out over the rugs surrounded by balled up wads of linguistic failure.

"Hey, I'm home—oh, sorry, I didn't mean—" Xander trailed off, taking in the evidence of Spike's frustration.

Spike smiled ruefully up at him. "You didn't. Give us a kiss."

Xander obliged, both men craning their necks for a peck on the lips before Xander gestured to the doorway and Henri stepped into the room.

"Found him loitering on the doorstep. Should I release the hounds or is Master feeling beneficent today?"

Spike sneered playfully at his lover. "You've been waiting all day to use that one, haven't you?"

Xander shrugged. "They all warned you off getting me that page-a-day calendar. You should have listened to their beneficent advice." Spike growled and smacked his arse. Xander jumped, but his eyes were laughing as he said, "All right, all right, I'm going. Alvaro made lunch and I left Manon in the garden with your mother."

Spike's moment imagining the unwisdom of such a scenario passed after Xander left and he found himself regarded warily by Henri.

"Hello, Henri."

"William. How are you _bon homme_?" He asked carefully.

Spike tried for levity. "Don't call me that, it makes the soul smug."

Henri chuckled and relaxed, sidestepped the mounds of paper and took a seat on the divan. "Poor _fou_ vampire."

"Can't say I don't come by it honestly," Spike told him with a wry smile.

"And here I'd been led to believe you were climbing the walls. You don't seem like you need my Manon here at all."

Spike couldn't tell if Henri was fishing or not. "I haven't tried fighting yet," he admitted. "I'll take the soul for a spin around the cemetery tonight and see how it handles. You got problems back home?"

Henri nodded. "Some _baba_ witch doctor took it into their head to turn a passel of college students on spring break into _zonbi_."

Spike couldn't help his guffaw of laughter. "Sounds like an improvement, if you ask me."

Henri smiled. "Still, I'd like my Consort to deal with them before our entire blood supply is ravaging the parish. Those drunken _enbesils_ donate enough to get us through the lean months most years."

Spike agreed benignly and after a moment's silence made his way to the drinks cabinet, pouring them both a double of bourbon after a moment's silent conference.

"You seem well enough," Henri fished openly. Spike hung his head over the glasses, his back to the room.

"I buried my kit in Xan's mother's garden last night. Bloody grandsire had to come and sort me this morning," he confessed hurriedly. He owed Henri honesty for the loan of his Consort, but a part of him was still unsure what such an admission would bring down on them. In many ways the Master of New Orleans was still a mystery to him. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility he might think nothing of annexing his territory. Might even consider it a sign of respect that he had something of worth to the vampire.

"As distasteful as the idea is, you can't deny the soul greatly improved Angelus."

Spike smiled at the reminder of their first meeting back in eighty-three as he turned and handed Henri a tumbler of scotch. Neither Henri nor Manon had been much taken with the brash Irishman. "Much less likely to skin you and make a coat from the flesh of your back, I'll grant you that." Spike smirked as Henri choked on his sip of scotch. "He gave it to Dru as a Christmas pressie back in eighty-eight," he added, the picture of innocent reminiscence.

"When will you claim Alexander?"

Spike narrowly avoided his own spit-take at that non sequitur.

"William, claim the boy. You both have earned a little peace."

Spike said nothing and soon the conversation turned to more benign topics, but Spike understood both the sentiment and warning in Henri's words. To continue as they were would do nothing to strengthen his reputation and would further speculation he was unfit to keep the Hellmouth.

It was too soon by half but Henri's meaning was clear.

Time was running out.

* * *

  
Between Manon's thinly veiled suggestions that he ought to let Spike claim him and Anne's stilted attempts at conversation, Xander was more than ready for a night out and a stiff drink.

Instead, he had dinner with Spike and his mother. The two fell easily into a mealtime routine that seemed carried over from days of yore while Xander flitted around the periphery of the conversation, answering politely if addressed but otherwise lost in his own thoughts. He just couldn't help thinking about Angel's words—that Spike was a different man now—and he wondered if they were right to go on as they had before. As if nothing had changed and they'd simply had a fight.

Xander wondered if he even knew this man at all.

The lights weren't even on in their room before Spike began the inevitable interrogation.

"You were dead quiet at dinner. Thought you and Mother had it out already."

"Yeah, sorry, just a little preoccupied," Xander evaded, unfastening his watch.

"I could see that. Why don't you spit out what's bothering you, then."

Xander sighed and sank into the club chair by the dresser. "Just…I'm wondering if we've moved things back to the way they were a little fast is all." Spike stood stock still, his expression lost. "I mean, things are different now. You're different now."

"Not so different."

"Spike, there's practically a whole other person in you I haven't even been introduced to."

"Xander, William. William, Xander."

"Oh, don't be glib. I'm serious."

"So am I." Spike knelt at his feet, his hands resting gently on Xander's knees. "I'm still me, Xander. I still love you. Fuck, Xan, I want to claim you, if you'll still have me."

Xander was stonily silent as he processed what Spike was saying. His mind reeled. How could he ask something like that at a time like this—when everything was so screwed up? What kind of sick game was he playing?

"God, don't leave me hanging here, say something."

"What the hell do you want from me, Spike?"

Spike reared back as if he'd been struck, his voice hurt and confused. "Just _hope_, Xan. A little hope that this wasn't for nothing."

"I can't promise you that!"

"Why the fuck not?" Spike's indignation eased his confusion as anger took its place. Xander stood, brushing Spike aside.

"BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW WHO THE HELL YOU ARE!" He yelled. "I thought I knew you! I thought you wouldn't leave me! I don't know who you are anymore!"

"A coward. I was a coward, Xander."

"Don't give me that bullshit—"

"It's not bullshit. I turned my mother, Xander."

"What?"

"I killed everything good in her and made her twisted and cruel. I thought it was because I couldn't let go of her, but it's more than that. The basest part of me, the basest part of the demon, still wants to turn her.

"I let you go because the demon wanted to turn her and damn the consequences. It didn't want to turn you. I loved _you_. Demon's wants were just stronger. It…whispered things…what might happen if I didn't give in. I thought I was better than that. Strong enough to keep the demon in control. Thought the imprint of William was enough. Make no mistake; _William_ would _never_ have let you go. I needed his bloody bollocks to do right by you. I couldn't trust myself anymore."

Xander was stunned by Spike's admission. He'd thought it was him. That he hadn't been enough to keep Spike. "Fuck."

"Bout sums it up."

"And now?"

"It's…different. Fuck, this is confusing."

He had to know, "Are you still…you in there?"

"Yeah. Feels like, maybe more so than ever…it's…it's a bit like hoovering."

"Come again?"

Spike seemed to consider his words a moment before sinking to the floor and gesturing for Xander to sit with him. He only hesitated a moment before sinking down beside him on the Persian carpet. Spike inclined his head and spoke softly. "Dru brings home a model O one day and gets it into her head that she wants to clean the carpets."

He laughed. "Living with you? Can't imagine why."

"Dru was bloody fastidious, an you better believe any place we lived for any length of time was plenty clean enough or she'd lay into me worse than the Slayer on her monthlies."

Xander grimaced. "I hope you're going somewhere with this."

"I _thought_ the bloody carpets were clean. Beat em myself every damn day. Walked on em, sat on em, lived on em for long enough, I thought I could tell dirty from clean, you understand? Damned woman fired up the hoover and suddenly I'm strung up by my ankles for not having gotten rid of the filth the bloody machine sucked up.

"I thought I knew myself well enough, but it's like I can see clearly now. Like the soul just hoovered out my fucking skull and there's filth swirling around the canister I never saw before. So yeah, I'm me, just…I dunno, a little more aware when the rugs need beating, I guess."

Xander regarded Spike for a long moment. What he said made sense in a way that Angel's explanations and insistence on the separation between his soul and his demon never had.

This was Spike. This was the man he loved.

"You made me doubt everything I believed. Made me think I'd been a fool to love you. You made me doubt myself."

Spike released an agonized sound. "Xander—"

Xander smiled sadly and reached out to touch Spike's shoulder. "I shouldn't have. I was right to trust you. When it mattered, you cared enough to do whatever it took to make things right. I've made a lot of mistakes and I know that took balls. So, no, I don't think you're a coward. I know I can trust you, and I think I can trust my judgment on that."

Spike's face was carefully blank and Xander knew he was trying not to hope. "What are you saying, love?"

Xander smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "I'm saying if the offer is still on the table, I think forever sounds good."

Spike whimpered and pulled him into his arms, crushing the breath out of him. "Oh, Xander…"

Xander pulled away and fixed him with a deadly serious look. "Just let's get one thing straight. I'm bigger than you. If you claim me, there's a damn good chance I'll be stronger than you. And if you ever, _ever_, abuse my trust like that again I will gut you like a goddamn deer. Understood?"

Spike didn't say anything. He pulled Xander to him again, and though he couldn't see his face, he felt the tears dripping into his hair. They held each other for the longest time, drained and tired, but grateful to have found that simpatico that first drew them together.

It wasn't perfect, but for the moment, it was enough.


	9. Chapter 9

Spike woke groggily when the bed went cold. A bleary glance at the alarm clock told him it was only seven-thirty. He'd almost talked himself into going back to sleep when he remembered it was Saturday. But the bed was cold. And it was seven-thirty.

Spike grinned. Xander was making breakfast.

Spike caught himself whistling as he ransacked Xander's drawer for a pair of his sweatpants. Then, in deference to his mother, he tossed on a robe. He didn't belt it. No sense in going overboard, after all. No sir, it was a brand new day in the Harris-Pratt household and make no mistake, he was through apologizing for how he chose to live out his unlife.

As he came down the stairs he noticed his mother standing in the parlor in her dressing gown, looking down at his old victrola. "Good morning, Mother," he told her, a petty part of him enjoying her startled jump.

She glared at him, hand over heart. "You frightened me, William."

"Something you'd like me to play?"

"Whatever you like, dear."

Spike reached for the lid, only to find one of his old Louis Armstrong albums on the turntable. He smiled and dropped the needle.

"Seems Xander's made his selection," he explained as the band began to play, the muted trumpet sweet even on the scratchy old record. "Shall we?" Spike offered her his arm.

As expected, Spike found Xander in the kitchen, dishing up plates of _huevos rancheros_, humming slightly off-key.

"Ah, _Madame e Monsieur_! _Entre-vous_, why don't you." Xander beamed at him and Spike poured a cup of tea for his mother. She took a seat at the table and Xander slipped her a plate of eggs.

Spike caught Xander as he turned and spun him into his arms. He laughed in surprise as Spike began to dance with him, singing along under his breath.

_"…Can't give you anything but love, baby.  
That's the only thing I've plenty of, baby.  
Dream a while. Scheme a while.  
We're sure to find,  
Happiness, and I guess  
all those things you've always pined for…"_

Spike spun him into an awkward dip and Xander clutched his shoulders, destroying any semblance of grace or balance and they laughed, grabbing onto the island to keep from falling. Spike risked a glance at his mother and saw she was watching them with wide eyes. He cleared his throat self-consciously before he could stop himself, drawing a look from Xander. The boy looked away, suddenly embarrassed and Spike cursed himself for a fool while yanking Xander by the hand back into his arms and kissing him soundly.

"Our home, yeah?" he breathed into his ear. Xander sighed and nodded minutely. "Good. So, Mother," Spike began, pushing Xander into a seat at the table and serving them both. "How was lunch with Mrs. De Sauveterre yesterday?"

Xander choked on a sip of coffee and glared.

Anne looked from him to Spike and made a valiant effort to appear casually accepting. "Oh, it was very informative William. I understand you and Mr. Harris are going to be wed?"

This time it was Spike's turn to choke on his breakfast. "She said _what_?"

"The claim," Xander explained into his coffee.

Spike reeled, staring at his lover obliviously stirring more cream into his cup. "But how the—we didn't—did you?"

Xander tossed the spoon onto the blue-checked tablecloth and shrugged. "How does Manon ever know anything?"

Spike rose from his seat, incensed. "That meddling little—".

Xander grabbed his arm and pulled him back into his seat. "Oh, calm down, she's been pushing the claim since the night we met and it wasn't like we were planning on keeping it a secret." Xander faltered. "Um, were we?"

Spike looked from Xander to his mother. "Yes, Mother, we're getting married. Sort of."

Anne perked up. "Like in a register's office?"

Suddenly, Spike realized exactly how difficult this was going to be to explain. "Um, well, no."

If Anne noticed his sudden deflation, she didn't let on. "Will you be wanting your father's watch for the occasion?" She asked, as happily as she'd sounded since he'd found her. Spike hated himself.

"I'm not certain it's to be found," he told her apologetically, unable to meet her eyes.

Anne looked stricken. "Oh dear. I hadn't—I put it aside for your wedding. You didn't keep it?"

Spike sank to his knees beside her. "Forgive me, Mother, I didn't know—"

She shook her head and swallowed. "No, it's silly—nothing to be upset over. Please excuse me, I'm feeling quite tired all of a sudden."

Spike wanted the floor to open up beneath him but there was no such luck. "Of course, Mother."

Anne rose from her seat. "I'd always imagined your wedding. Your father and I never really—well, he didn't see the point in anything so frivolous. He was right, of course. But I did hope you'd carry his watch and—and I kept a few things—silly really—but I thought you or, I suppose, Mr. Harris might like them. I didn't think—" She trailed off as tears filled her eyes. "It's not important. Congratulations, to you both," she said earnestly, turned, and left Spike feeling like a bigger monster than ever.

They finished their breakfast in silence. Xander quietly cleaned up afterward and invited him to watch TV with him upstairs, which Spike refused.

He stayed there for a long time, staring out the kitchen windows, wondering what channels he'd have to go through to find his father's watch, or if it even still existed.

* * *

  
Later, when the shadows had crept far enough across the garden that the kitchen was dim and cold, Spike found Xander in their room, staring contemplatively at hurricane footage on the telly.

"You've finally exhausted the entertainment capacity of the Cartoon Network and have been reduced to watching the Weather Channel?"

"Hey, accurate local weather on the eights. What's not to love?"

Spike raised his eyebrow and dropped onto the bed beside him. Xander's head settled onto his shoulder almost immediately as they slipped into their normal TV watching clinch. Spike held his hand.

"You look like you got the world on your shoulders."

Xander sighed. "I was flipping past, and usually I go right by because, hey, this is California. Sunny, mild, hardly ever rains. Then I wondered what it would be like to live somewhere that did—that." Xander pointed to the TV where a bubbly looking woman was discussing a Nor'easter blowing through central Maine. "And I thought, 'Hey, maybe I _will_ live there some day. I could live a lot of places in a hundred, two hundred years. All kinds of weather.'"

Spike squeezed his hand, understandingly. "You're under no obligation, Xander. You say the word and we go on exactly as we have been."

Xander looked at him and the love in his eyes would have taken his breath away if he'd had any to begin with. "No, we can't. I can't live without you. I'm not in any position to ask you to live without me." He dropped his head. "Seeing you married really means a lot to her, doesn't it."

Spike sighed. "I lived at home until I was thirty-five. Find me the mother that wouldn't be a little preoccupied by the idea under those circumstances," he charged. Xander chuckled. Spike considered him knowingly. "You're thinking about it, aren't you."

Xander smiled sheepishly. "It's just, she mentioned the watch and I started thinking about all the crap in my mom's hope chest I'd have hanging over my head if she didn't get me in her grandfather's cufflinks just once."

"Spare us from well-intentioned mothers," he muttered, earning a sharp elbow to his ribs. "Whatever you want, love. Want me in a bloody gown made of meringue you've got me, so long as I get the right to call you mine until the end of the world."

"Poet," Xander accused, smirking.

"Shut it."

They continued watching the ski reports for Aspen and Telluride in comfortable silence.

"Is this normal?" Xander asked quietly and apropos of nothing. "Feeling like this? Like—like I'm _mourning_ everyone and they're not even _dead_ yet. Is that morbid?"

Spike nodded. "Immortality isn't just living forever. It's watching everything you love change, wither and die. There's a bit of hell in eternity, all told, and I've only seen a hundred and fifty years. Don't know what the worlds going to look like when I've seen two hundred and fifty like the poof." Spike snorted. "Don't know what _I'll_ look like when I've seen as many years as ol' bat face."

"I'm sure you'll be very attractive, even with perpetual fruit punch mouth."

Spike cuffed Xander gently.

He laughed. "I just feel like doing this would be a way to acknowledge everything good in my life. Maybe even say goodbye, in a way, but that sounds so wrong," Xander qualified with a shake of his head.

"S'normal. It's the end of your days chasing skirts and living the bachelor life, ain't it? One less thing to look forward to, one more thing behind." Xander seemed to find that a revelatory statement and Spike was content to let it rest.

"You don't think it's stupid? I'd understand if you—"

"You still on about a wedding?" He clarified.

"If you haven't noticed, I haven't been doing much skirt chasing lately. I think it's a safe bet that sealing the deal, with or without our mothers watching, isn't going to suddenly cause me to wonder what I'm doing with my life."

Spike smirked. "We're not talking churches, are we? Cause that's difficult enough to arrange for two blokes let alone one who tends to go flammable around holy items."

"I was thinking here. Something smaller and friendlier to the Demonic-American community. Maybe in the garden?"

Spike pictured he and Xan under the bay tree in the moonlight and suddenly wanted a pen in his hand very badly. _Guess that's a good sign._

"Yeah, sounds just right," he said, his voice sounding wistful even to his own ears.

Xander beamed, then sobered immediately. "Thanks for this morning, by the way. With your mom, I mean."

Spike shrugged. "Nothing to thank me for. Just doing what I should have all along."

"No, it was hard. I know it was. I meant what I said, though, about trusting us to get this right, so…I'm going to see my dad."

Spike's eyes widened. "Bleedin' Christ, you serious?"

Xander nodded. "I've been thinking about what I'm going to say to him. Probably won't matter much either way, but it has to be done. I want Mom at our wedding and damn did that sound weird coming out of my mouth or what? _Our wedding._ Huh." Xander was clenching and unclenching his hands reflexively and starting to pale.

Spike elbowed him. "Breathe, Xander."

Xander took a deep, shuddering breath. "Breathing. Making with the breath. Okay, not panicking. Wow, this is hard."

"Love, you're hyperventilating. It's not worth all this."

Spike watched as Xander forced himself to calm and fixed him with a steely glare. "It's worth everything. _You're_ worth everything to me. Mom wants me to give him a chance. So I will. But if he doesn't like it, tough noogies."

Xander rose determinedly from the bed and shrugged on a hooded sweatshirt before grabbing his keys off the dresser.

"You're going _now_?"

"No time like the time before I throw up and change my mind."

"You want me to go with you?" Spike offered.

Xander shook his head. "I need to do this alone. If he can't respect me as a man, I won't let him disrespect you."

Spike nodded and watched his brave boy stiffen his resolve and take his leave. He turned to the nightstand drawer and removed a small pair of reading glasses, his journal and his pen and began to write.

* * *

  
Xander pulled up in front of his parents' house just in time to see his father struggling down a ladder from the roof.

"Dad?" Xander said, the slamming car door startling his father enough to send the rickety aluminum ladder listing hard to starboard. "Dad! Jesus…" Xander ran up the lawn and steadied it.

Tony Harris descended with an annoyed huff. "Damned shingles coming up. I knew that roofing contractor was a shyster, but your mother…"

"How are you, Dad?" Xander interrupted.

Tony rolled his eyes at the obvious diversion. "You need money?" He asked.

"No! I mean, no, I'm doing okay."

Tony snorted. "You union yet?"

"I'm in the apprenticeship program."

"Hmm." Tony pulled a bandana from his pocket and wiped the back of his neck. The wind blew through the crab tree in the backyard and tossed the small saucer swing. His dad's shirts waved franticly on the clothesline. "Well, your mother's in the house. I've got to get this finished. Not like I can get up there during the week since Chet got me that job in Carlton."

The green trim around the front windows needed to be repainted. "Yeah."

"Course last time I was working regular, I had help around here."

Xander sighed. "You want me to get up there?"

"Nah, don't bother. You want a beer?"

_Yes. Yes, he would._ "Dad, it's not even noon, yet."

"I don't see your mother out here but I'd swear I could hear her bitching at me…"

"Dad…"

Tony held up his hands. "All right, all right. Your mother's inside. I need to get this done."

Xander knew that was as civil a dismissal as he was likely to get. Part of him wanted to cherish it, because as tempting as it was to leave it and go inside, he'd never be able to look Spike in the face again if he couldn't do this.

"Actually, I came to talk to you."

Tony turned around, smirk in place. "Did you, now?"

Grass was sparse underfoot. His sneakers kicked up a lot of dust. "Um, yeah. Look, um, I'm um…"

"For god's sake, spit it out Xander."

He thought his heart might stop. He focused on the paint flaking on the shutters. "Fine, I'm gay."

Tony's eyebrows neared his hairline before he snorted and shook his head. "It figures. That all?"

Xander stared at his father in disbelief. "You don't have anything to say?"

Tony shrugged dramatically. "Would it change anything? Since when do you give a tinker's damn what I think about anything?"

Xander's heart sank. He didn't know why, it wasn't like he'd really let himself hope that maybe his dad would have suddenly cared. _Oh what the hell, in for a penny._

"Since I'm getting married."

"Oh, God, _why_?"

"What do you mean, why? Because I love him. Because I want to spend the rest of my life with him."

"And what are you doing now? You're not saving yourself for the wedding night." Tony sneered.

Xander blushed. "No, but that's not really the point—"

"Then what is it? This your way of getting back at me?"

"God, _no_, Dad, Christ! It doesn't have anything to do with you!"

"Then what's wrong with turning right around and going back to your little friend and keeping it between you where it belongs?"

Xander clenched his teeth. "This was a mistake."

"Don't embarrass yourself, Xander. You don't need to do this."

Xander couldn't trust himself to say anything so he didn't. He turned around and walked back to the car, shoes crunching unpleasantly in the dry grass. He didn't look up when he got in and he didn't look in the rear view as he drove off. When he got to the intersection between his house and the Magic Box he noticed his foot tapping restlessly on the floor of the car and gunned the engine, changing lanes and cutting off the SUV driver behind him, and headed for the Magic Box.

Xander was too angry to face Spike. Spike would rant about what an asshole his father was and Xander would say something stupidly defensive and they'd end up shouting at each other when all either of them really wanted to do was put their fist through Tony Harris's red, bloated face.

The Magic Box was quiet and Xander made for the training room without looking to see who was manning the store. All that mattered was hitting the heavy bag until he could think again.

His dad's sneering, condescending face replayed itself in his mind's eye while he hurriedly taped his knuckles. The first punch felt blissful. The second felt better. He bounced on the balls of his feet, circling the bag, too distracted to think about his footwork and just threw his arm into every blow. Hard, fast, brutal. The dull thud of the bag echoed in the room. Sweat trickled down from his hair into his eyes. The burning spurred him on. He hit harder. Faster.

"Xander?"

Giles' voice cut through his trance like a draft in a smoky room. Xander looked down and saw his knuckles were bleeding through the tape.

He was sweaty and bleeding and the adrenaline was coursing through him, making him shake a little. Giles was so, so still, and dry and quiet in his pressed trousers and wool sweater vest.

"Sorry, I'll just clean up and get out of your way."

Xander grabbed a towel off the bench and went for the spray bottle and paper towels to wipe down the equipment.

"Xander, is everything all right?"

Xander snorted and sprayed down the bag. "Well, Tony Harris wasn't really surprised to hear his son was a faggot, but I doubt he'll be coming to the wedding."

The paper towel tore and he forced himself to slow down, even though he was trying to make the _shush_ of paper on vinyl as loud as possible to dampen whatever Giles was going to say.

"I'm sorry," Giles said.

Xander shrugged. "Wasn't really more than I expected."

"I meant that I apologize. Xander, you're a much better man than I. I—I _am_ sympathetic, but I was cruel and I must beg your forgiveness."

Xander was shocked out of his fugue state entirely. "Um, thank you," he said, noticing that Giles barely seemed to hear him as he ran a finger over the pike on the wall before wearily sitting on the ugly, olive sofa and dropping his head into his hand. After a long moment, he spoke. Xander strained to hear.

"Ethan didn't leave when Randall died. He looked after me, and when I said I was through—that I wanted to go back to school and the council, he was with me." Giles paused, sounding slightly choked up, "We went together to see my father. I said I was ready to come back, that—that I thought he should find a place for Ethan in the council because he was _so_ talented, Xander."

Xander only noticed his mouth had been hanging open when he tried to speak and found his throat had gone dry. He swallowed roughly. "And I guess that didn't go so well."

"He refused to recommend me back to the Council if I didn't end the—the association."

"So you broke up with him."

Giles looked up miserably. "I didn't have to. Ethan knew what it meant to me. He—he kissed me, and left me there. At the time I was mortified."

"He forgave you."

"He shouldn't have _had_ to. I should have gone over my father's head and applied back to the Council on my own terms." Giles stood and paced in front of him. "When you took up with Spike, you were so damnably _happy_ I could hardly bear it. You had everything I once had, and hadn't the courage to keep. I let my bitterness overtake my better judgment, and for that I am most dreadfully sorry.

"These last few years it's been more and more difficult to justify my choice. Every time he came back it was…losing him all over again. The last time—I turned him over to the _Initiative_, Xander. It's not much of a justification for how I've treated you, I know, but I have…nightmares. About what might be happening to him. I'm sorry for using you to try and justify my betrayal of him."

Xander stood. _He keeps so much to himself._ "Apology accepted. I'd hug you, but I'm not feeling that punitive."

Giles smiled reluctantly. "I thank you for your beneficence."

Xander beamed. "Hey I know that one!" He told Giles proudly, slinging the towel around his neck as Giles walked to the breaker box and turned off the lights.

"I'm glad to hear it," he replied as they were leaving. "Who did you suppose suggested to Spike he get you that calendar?"

Xander grinned. Giles locked his office door as they walked past.

"Are you closing early today?" Xander asked.

"Hmm? No, I'm taking you to a late lunch."

Xander hesitated. "I should really probably get home. I came straight here and Spike's going to worry."

Giles' hand fell heavily on his shoulder as he was directed to the phone. "I think you should tell Spike it went extremely well, everything considered."

Xander goggled. "Maybe I undersold the situation a bit—"

"Nonsense. I'm sure given a little time to think things over, your father will recognize the error of his ways. Time can be very persuasive. Among other things."

Xander didn't like the look in Giles' eyes as he said that but he still gamely dialed Spike.

"Hey, Babe, it's me. Yeah…" Xander looked dubiously at the Watcher's deceptively calm exterior. "Yeah, everything went great…"

Caught up in the conversation, Xander didn't see Giles crack his knuckles and pull the addresses of the labor club and the Bison's lodge from his Rolodex.


	10. Chapter 10

Giles dropped Xander off at home with a bag of leftovers, extracting a promise that he would call after patrol if he and Spike didn't meet up with the others. That secured, he waited until Xander was inside his front door before referring to the address of the AFL-CIO club and gunning the engine. He really had no idea what he was going to do when he got there other than some very vague notions of threats and intimidation. But then he'd never had any such plans where brawling was concerned before and that usually turned out all right.

He slammed open the door.

The pub was vacant. The barstools were all empty. No one was cued up by the pinball machine, the pool table or the pull-tab counter.

"No, dammit, hand me the…yeah, there."

Giles turned around to find the source of the voice emanating from behind the bar. Crowded around the voice appeared to be the missing patrons of the establishment. The curious vignette immediately pushed all notions of violence out of his head.

A loud voice boomed from an open door near the back of the bar that presumably lead to the cellar. "Anything?"

A man in a dark red coat near the front pulled the tap nearest him. Nothing happened. He shouted his reply, "Still nothing, Jack."

From the cellar, "Shit!"

"You sure the tank is on?" the voice behind the bar yelled back.

"Yes I'm sure! Fuck!"

Something clanked behind the bar. One of the men looked over and happened to notice him standing there.

"Hey, pal, sorry, but the bar's closed until the kegs are up and running."

"So what the fuck are you still doing here, Mike?" said the mystery voice.

He looked offended. "I'm helping!" The other men sniggered.

The man in the red coat smiled at him. "You want something to drink? Beer's out but the bottles work just fine."

Giles shook his head. "No, thank you, I'm actually looking for Anthony Harris."

The men went still and there was a loud thunk behind the bar. Whether they thought his arrival was particularly inauspicious or they were merely reacting to his accent, it was hard to say.

Someone was laughing. The man behind the bar stood, chuckling darkly as he wiped greasy hands on his work stained jeans. Without introduction it was obvious who he was. Mr. Harris had the same wide mouth and dark, unruly hair as his son, though a bit grayer around the temples.

"Mr. Giles, I presume," he said, appearing vastly unimpressed. "I was wondering if I was going to hear from you."

Giles didn't really know what to say to that weary sounding pronouncement.

"I was hoping we could talk," he said.

"This guy bothering you, Tony?" Mike asked, eagerly. Tony didn't look at Mike as he replied.

"Nah, it's fine. Look, you don't mind talking while I'm _cleaning the fucking coupler_—" he shouted in the direction of the door.

"I cleaned it!" came the answering yell from the cellar.

"—Then you can say whatever you came to say."

Giles nodded and the men cleared a path for him to get near the bar where Tony had resumed tinkering with the faucet.

"You wouldn't rather speak in private?"

Tony looked up and around. "Guys, give us a sec, all right? Go get the damn coupler from Jack," he added as they began milling toward the cellar door. Tony wiped his hands on a towel and threw it back behind the bar as he grabbed two shot glasses and a bottle off the wall. "Don't mind, do you?" he asked.

Giles shook his head and Tony poured the shots, sliding one over to him, downing his and pouring another in quick succession.

"I understand Xander came to see you earlier."

Tony blinked against the burn of the whiskey and nodded, breathlessly. "Yes he did."

"He was very upset when he left."

Tony sighed weightily. The shot glass clacked on the bar. "Look, I could give a damn if he likes girls, boys or what. But with all due respect, I know my boy. He'd cut his nose off to spite my face."

"You believe his intention is to act out?"

Tony shrugged. "Isn't it? Figure he was too busy keeping it together for his mom when he was a kid and I was laid up. So he found a guy that does it for him. Great. But Xander commits himself to things without thinking and gets himself in over his head. Prob'ly my fault. I just don't want him doing something like this to get at me and winding up dragging this guy and everyone else down with him when he's too pigheaded to admit he made a mistake."

"Is that what you did?"

Tony looked at him blearily by way of response.

Giles considered his words and knew they didn't fall far from the mark, except… Except. He believed Xander and Spike _were_, in fact, very much in love and it had little, if anything, to do with any sort of rebellion on Xander's part. While he could admit that he shared the same concerns regarding Xander's consent to be bonded to the vampire, he had had more than ample time to consider the ramifications of his decision and believed, after speaking with him, that it was a mature, reasoned decision on Xander's part.

He could have said as much to Tony, but he thought better of it. Giles checked his watch. Ten past seven.

"Mr. Harris," he said, rising from the stool. "I'd like to show you something."

* * *

  
Tony Harris walked along beside him indulgently and Giles took up a slightly slower pace in deference to his uneasy gait. When they approached their destination, Tony stopped.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, drawing up to the gate of Restview cemetery.

Giles said nothing and continued walking through the gate, toward the eastern quarter of the graveyard. After a moment he heard uneven steps hurrying to catch up behind him and he smirked.

"You better have a damn good reason for dragging me—"

"Shh," Giles interrupted. "Quiet."

About forty feet ahead three figures moved purposefully across the lawn. Vampires. Suddenly, there was a great whirl of activity as Spike leapt from behind a mausoleum and began the assault.

"Jesus…" Tony let out a hiss of breath, watching the vampires fight. "What the hell's the matter with their faces?"

"Vampires," Giles replied easily.

Tony looked cautiously concerned. "Should we—"

"I believe the situation is under control."

Tony didn't appear comforted, still quite unsure what he was seeing. "That little one sure is fast, are you sure—"

"Watch."

Tony watched. Spike did a roundhouse kick sending the weaker of the three sprawling while he staked the next vampire still shaking off the haymaker he'd thrown. The third wasn't going down easily and the other was getting to his feet. Spike ignored him in favor of sweeping the legs out from under the big guy, which resulted in him getting grabbed by his legs and tossed against the mausoleum.

"Jesus!" Tony exclaimed.

There was a blur of motion and Xander was helping Spike up, blocking a punch from the smaller vamp and ducking out of the way as Spike used him for leverage as he kicked the big one in the face, knocking him back a few steps.

"Oh, God, Xander…" Tony moaned and Giles looked over sharply at him, staying him with a hand when he seemed tensed to leap in after his son.

"Just watch," Giles repeated.

Xander jumped onto the back of the smaller vamp, and rolled when he was thrown onto the ground. He got to his feet quickly and threw a wild left hook that connected by pure luck as he reached for his stake. He followed it with a right cross that was more practiced and rocketed the vamps head back. He staked him as he struggled for balance.

"Atta boy," Tony muttered under his breath. Giles smiled.

Spike's kick glanced off the larger vamp's shoulder and he turned, saw Xander and sent him flying with a blow to the head.

Tony's cry of "Xander!" was drowned out by Spike's feral yell as he leapt onto the back of the larger vamp and broke his neck with a shout. His feet had barely touched the ground before he was sprinting over to Xander's position and helping him, carefully, to his feet.

"I—I don't understand. Isn't that thing a vampire?"

Giles snorted. "Yes, he is."

"And Xander and—"

"Spike."

"Spike?"

"Spike."

"Oh, Jesus Christ." Tony hung his head.

Giles chuckled. Spike was fussing over Xander while Xander brushed dust off his vampire. As they watched, Spike lifted Xander's face and kissed him deeply.

Tony cleared his throat. Giles turned to him. "Xander is stubborn and occasionally vindictive, I'll grant you. But I assure you what he shares with Spike is based on loyalty and mutual admiration."

"But he's a vampire."

"Yes, I know," Giles sighed.

"Is he fucking serious?"

Giles snorted. "I believe so, yes."

"Oh, Jesus Christ."

Giles smiled wryly. "There were mitigating circumstances. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to tell you all about them."

"I think I've seen enough," he told Giles, turning to leave. He walked a few steps, then paused and added as an afterthought, "I'll talk to Xander tomorrow."

Giles nodded and followed him out.

* * *

  
"You sure you're all right, love?"

Xander took Spike's hand from his shoulder and kissed it. "I told you, I'm fine. Not unconscious, not concussed, just tired, and sore—" Xander broke off as he heard laughter coming from inside the mausoleum. "And is there a party going on in there?"

Spike turned at the sound and held a hand up for Xander to be silent as he crept around to the door. Xander followed close behind.

"The hell?" he muttered. Inside, six or seven vamps were stretched out over a couple of ratty couches, feeding on several blissed out looking people.

Spike looked grim. "Better let me handle this, Xan."

"Wait—" he said, seeing a man get up to leave. His back had been to the door but now they were able to get a good look at him. It was Riley.

"Shit," Spike said feelingly. "Well that tears it. Can I kill him as long as he's volunteering?"

Xander glowered. "No, you can't, but I think Buffy might."

He looked over and saw Spike gesturing to follow him a short distance away. He followed, vaguely amused by the cloak and dagger routine.

"Look, fact is, those humans are there of their own free will."

"You're letting them go?" Xander asked, incredulous.

Spike shrugged helplessly. "They're not killin'. Where's the harm?"

"Seriously?" Xander sighed and looked back at the crypt. Xander suspected this was one of those gray areas related to being the snuggle bunny of the Master of Sunnydale. It wouldn't do to question his judgment right now but, "Fine, but we've got to do something about Riley."

"Could make it look like an accident…" Spike mumbled.

"I _like_ Riley!" Xander protested. Spike glared at him.

"In case you've forgotten, he's one of the wankers who neutered me!"

Xander grimaced. "No, I haven't forgotten. And it's not like it was him personally—"

"Oh, don't give me that 'just following orders' bollocks—"

"Can we not do this right now? I think he's leaving." Sure enough, Riley was exiting the tomb, hair mussed and looking slightly dazed and shaky. Soldier or no, it didn't take a genius to figure walking through the cemetery in his condition was more likely to get him killed than not. _How the hell has he managed stay alive this long?_ Xander wondered.

They followed at a distance until they were a short ways from the tomb when Spike called out, "Hey, snack pack!"

Riley whipped around, stake shaking violently in his hand. _Jesus_.

"Xander? Spike?" He asked, dumbly.

Xander gave Spike a warning look before jogging ahead and taking Riley's arm and lowering him slightly forcefully onto a headstone.

"Think we need to talk, buddy."

Riley hung his head as Spike sauntered over, smirking.

"Look, it's not what you think," he told them.

"Which would be, what, you volunteering to get your neck aerated?"

Riley's expression hardened. "Like you're in any place to talk."

Spike growled and Xander scoffed openly. "Okay first, what I do in my _committed, monogamous relationship_ is entirely none of your business and so not even in the vicinity of the realm of the point here. What is the point, is that you are apparently sneaking around behind Buffy's back to play buffet with your new demony friends."

Riley's face fell and Xander was almost tempted to feel sorry for him. "You're not going to tell Buffy, are you?"

Spike snorted and shook a cigarette from his pack, shaking his head as he lit up. "You're a bloody piece of work, you are."

Xander fixed Riley with his best resolve face. "No. I'm not going to tell her. But you sure as hell are. Come on," he told him, hoisting him up under his shoulder and marching him out toward the cemetery gate. They didn't have far to go before they met Buffy coming in from her patrol of the western quarter with Willow, Tara and Anya.

"Hey guys," Buffy called out cheerfully. "Riley? I thought you said you were going out with Graham tonight?" Her expression fell as she caught the grim looks on their faces. "What happened?"

To make matters worse, Angel chose that moment to arrive from his own sweep of the northern edge. Xander watched him size the three of them up as if unsure where to direct his disdain first.

"Riley?" Buffy repeated, voice quavering. Spike sighed dramatically and Xander braced himself for the fallout if his lover couldn't manage to be tactful.

"Seems your boy's taken up a new hobby. Found him in a suck house."

Willow gasped.

"Is it true?" Buffy asked. Riley looked up at her and shook his arm free from Xander's grip.

"You let them have this power over you, Buffy. I can't compete with that. I wanted to know—what it was that you felt—"

"Stop," Buffy said softly, holding up her hand and struggling to contain her tears. "Just, stop. Don't you dare tell me this is my fault."

"You keep me at such a distance—"

"Riley, it wasn't like that—"

"Wasn't it? I wasn't the easy choice? The consolation prize when you couldn't be with him?" He asked heatedly, throwing a gesture toward Angel.

Buffy glared. "I didn't make you do anything. I—"

"—Don't love me. And you never will because I'm not _him_."

Buffy was crying openly now. It was horrific to watch and Xander didn't want to be there anymore. It felt perverse and intrusive and it absolutely was. All the same, he couldn't leave Buffy's side and as he glanced around at the mirroring expressions of horror and pain on the others' faces, he knew they felt the same.

"Just go," she told him.

"Buffy—"

"GO!" she shouted.

Riley hesitated and Xander came up beside him. "I think you'd better leave."

Riley looked up, defeated and took off. When he was outside the gate, Buffy sank to her knees. Willow crouched down beside Buffy and pulled her into her arms. Xander knelt beside them and put his arms around them both. He felt Spike's hand on his shoulder and knew Tara and Anya were near as well.

"Buffy, I'm so sorry—" Angel began awkwardly.

Spike snorted and Xander rolled his eyes. Buffy didn't look up.

"Angel, I can't talk to you right now. Please go tell mom I'm staying at Spike and Xander's tonight."

Angel pursed his lips and nodded before taking off.

Everyone followed them to their house that night. Anne was sympathetic and graciously gave over the parlor to their stayed gathering. Anya made her usual blunt declarations of fiery vengeance, they ate leftover ribs which Willow only felt slightly guilty about. ("You're a rebel, sweetie," Tara teased.) Eventually though, Tara and Willow left and took Anya with them. Spike went up to bed, not desiring to hear whatever words of consolation were going to be exchanged between Xander and Buffy about the loss of a man who played a role in his perceived caging. Xander knew they were headed for a fight on the subject, but the demand of the hour was to be Buffy's rock. And so he was, long into the night.

* * *

  
Xander woke up on his side, facing Spike, who was staring at him.

"You know I'd get rid of the chip myself if I could, don't you?" Xander asked.

Spike's eyes widened. "Good morning to you, too."

"Buffy couldn't kill Angelus in time to prevent Jenny getting killed. Giles secretly poisoned Buffy. Willow made you fall in love with Buffy—"

Spike grimaced.

"—And I made nearly every woman in Sunnydale—including Drusilla—fall madly in love with me. Riley was dumb enough to get sucked into a para-military organization that captured and chipped you. You tried to kill me—"

"Xander—"

"_Point is_, I'd be very lonely if me and everyone else didn't figure out how to get past our dastardly wrongdoings. Liking Riley was never about any kind of disloyalty to you, please tell me you understand that."

Spike had the grace to look away. "Do now."

"Good," Xander said. "Cause I need your help to scare him within an inch of pissing himself."

Spike did a double take and sat up. "Wanna run that by me slow, like?"

Xander smirked. "Riley's not going to stick around for long without Buffy or the Initiative. We've got a short window of opportunity to try and guilt him into de-chipping you and busting Giles' main squeeze out of the big house."

"What in the hell did you two get up to last night?"

Xander shrugged. "Even Buffy can only take so much self-pity before she turns into General Summers and starts making contingency plans. And, for the love of our sex life do _not_ repeat this to her, but I'm thinking Riley wasn't wrong about her not really being all that into him in the first place."

"Slayer never could take an ego blow."

Xander rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you'll have to give her some pointers on getting dumped with dignity."

"Oi!"

Xander laughed and ducked the flying pillow before tackling Spike to the bed and receiving retribution in much more pleasurable ways.

Some time later, they made their way down to the kitchen where they found Spike's mother conferring with Buffy over a stack of bridal magazines. They immediately tried to turn back around but unfortunately couldn't escape notice. Conversation stopped and both women looked their direction.

"William, what are your thoughts on the wedding cake?"

Spike turned and left the room without comment.

Xander sighed resignedly and poured himself a cup of coffee. "I'm going to get stuck with this, aren't I."

Buffy scooted around to the seat beside Anne and made room for Xander at the table. "Luckily, you're surrounded by women eager to get their vicarious wedding thrills. Here," she said, briefly glancing through the dog eared pages of the Sears catalog sized magazines before pulling three from the pile. "Point and grunt at the one you like best."

Xander looked at the glossy photos of ornate baked goods. One looked pretty much like what he'd consider to be a wedding cake. White, many layers, probably tasted like upholstery foam. One was very modern looking with almost no decoration at all and very smooth. It was kind of cool as far as cakes went, he decided. The last one was a tower of cupcakes. _Now, _that_ has potential,_ he thought. Just then, the doorbell rang.

"Um, that one," Xander said, pointing at the modern one as he stood.

Buffy made a little squeal of delight, barely quieter than the scrape of his chair across the kitchen tile. He gave Anne an apologetic shrug and went to get the door.

On their front stoop, stood Tony Harris. Xander opened and closed his mouth in his best impersonation of a trout.

"Dad?"

"Xander."

It felt like an eternity while his mouth caught up to his brain. "Come in."

"Thanks," his father replied, stiffly.

They stood awkwardly in the foyer for a second while Xander's brain struggled to wrap around the cognitive dissonance that was his father in his house.

"You patch those panels?"

Xander looked up at the panel his dad was looking at.

"Um, yeah."

"Did a good job."

"Thanks."

"Somewhere we can talk?"

Talk. His dad wanted to talk. "Oh, yeah. Sure. You want a beer?" He asked, then kicked himself and wondered when the hell his instinct to be hospitable overrode his deep and abiding commitment to not be an enabler.

Tony snorted. "If you've got one, sure."

Xander gestured to the back door. "Just out there. I'll be out in a sec." He swung through the kitchen on his way out, grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge and made polite if brusk excuses to Buffy and Anne that he couldn't remember a moment later.

His dad was leaning on the railing, looking out over the garden. Xander handed him a beer and took a much needed swig of his own.

"This is nice, you do all this?"

Xander looked over in surprise. "Nah. Guy from work did me a favor. You know I've got two brown thumbs." Xander suddenly realized how that sounded and apparently so did his dad who exploded with laughter. "I didn't mean…"

Tony waved it off, wiping his eyes. "I remember. Don't think your mother would ever let me forget what with you killing over a hundred bucks worth of tomato plants."

Xander chuckled weakly and stared hard at the new trellises along the porch. _Huh, Álvaro must have been busy last night,_ he thought, absently. While pleasantly divorced from the moment he started talking. "Look Dad, I know I haven't been around much the last few years, but I've got a good thing going here," he said in one breath.

"I know," his father replied soberly. Xander looked over in surprise. "I thought you were being selfish. Hell, didn't even blame you, what with the way things were at home for so long. Ate your mother up, though. God knows she blamed me. Not that she was wrong, either."

Xander sighed, once again wishing there was a way to explain about demon hunting for fun and utter lack of profit. "Dad, it wasn't like that."

"I know. Mr. Giles paid me a little visit."

Xander covered his face with his hands, mortified. "Oh, God…"

Tony chuckled. "He thinks an awful lot of you, Xander. Made me go out to Restview with him."

That took Xander aback. "You…you, what did you _see_?"

Tony looked him straight in the eyes. "Saw the kind of man my son is. You looked good out there."

Xander swallowed hard against the threat of tears. "So you know?"

Tony nodded. "Your mother'd said some stuff, but I thought it was the Ambien talking."

Xander chuckled. "I can't believe you know."

"Your mom's making dinner. We'll see the both of you at six. I want to meet the man I'm giving up a pontoon for."

Xander's jaw dropped. "Dad you don't have to."

Tony smiled. "Yeah, but I'm doing it anyway." His tone of voice bespoke tears, nagging and bushels of Jewish-Catholic guilt.

"Mom?" Xander smirked.

"God, you know she wouldn't shut up about it when I told her." Tony sighed, shaking his head.

Xander leaned back over the railing with his beer in hand. Tony took a long draught of his own and handed the empty bottle back to Xander. "That lead out front?" he asked, pointing to the gate. Xander made a noise in the affirmative and Tony clapped him on the shoulder.

"We'll see you tonight, then."

Xander looked at his father and smiled, suddenly feeling much older. "We'll be there."

He watched him go, noticing he moved a little slower as his knees protested the steps and he seemed to have a slight limp. Probably left over from the accident that put him out of work from most of his adolescence.

Xander knew he could take the invitation or leave it. But the funny thing about standing on the precipice of immortality was he found he had no real desire to stay bitter about much of anything anymore. He couldn't say life was short, but life as he knew it was.

It bore thinking about some time when he wasn't embarrassingly buzzed off of one beer.


	11. Chapter 11

Tony's unexpected visit had the serendipitous effect of causing Xander to entirely miss Angel's visit. He and Buffy left together which, combined with Buffy's interpretation of coffee, left him reaching for the antacids. Still though, it had apparently been her intent to go straight to Riley's to make her severance demands and while Xander was supportive of the idea, he was more than grateful to be left out of it's implementation.

He frowned. Riley was a good guy. A stupid idiot, but then, he figured that went with the territory of falling in love with Buffy. And he should know.

He hoped Buffy had the good sense to leave Angel behind and to leave things civil between them and didn't Riley still have his socket wrenches?

"Son of a bitch," he muttered under his breath. There was no way he was getting his tools back after Buffy got through with him.

"What the hell are you grousing about?" Spike groused beside him. Xander flinched.

"Just remembered Riley still has my socket wrenches," he explained. Spike made some sort of disgruntled noise and fished through his pockets for his cigarettes, which he found were as damp as the rest of him and unusable.

Xander didn't need to look. He felt Spike's glare quite clearly.

Dinner with his folks had been a total nightmare from start to finish.

It began with the tie, which Xander had insisted upon and which Spike had protested just as vehemently, adjusting and readjusting the knot which was _perfectly fine, thank you very much_.

"Leave it already, you're making it crooked."

"I can't breath with this bloody thing!" Spike complained, pulling at his collar.

"Then it's a good thing breathing's optional for you, isn't it?"

Then there was showing up at home only to find out that dinner had apparently been burned beyond recognition, if he was to understand his mother's vague insinuations, and before they could say 'garlic bad' they were hustled into the family station wagon and waiting in line for a table at Olive Garden.

"_Italian_?" Spike asked incredulously as they walked inside. "They do know I'm a _vampire_, right?"

Xander could only shrug helplessly.

To his parents' credit, they were honestly as well behaved as he could ever remember them. His mother restricted herself to only one glass of wine and his dad wasn't drinking anything beyond the one beer, which was momentous in and of itself. Which may have actually been part of the problem as neither of them seemed adept at making conversation sober.

Spike, _and God how he loved that man_, was trying so hard to be polite while obviously uncomfortable amidst all the garlic fumes, he allowed himself to be dragged into a conversation about the wedding that managed to touch on nearly every inappropriate topic of dinner discussion conceivable.

"Who's going to do the ceremony?" Jessica asked.

Xander looked blankly at Spike who did his level best to punt. "Um, well, I guess Angel might—" he began.

It was at this point Xander performed his first spit-take of the evening, showering Spike in diet cola.

"Sorry," he apologized sincerely as Spike hastily blotted his tie, "But _Angel_?"

"Oh, is he a priest?" his mother asked, handing over her napkin to Spike.

Spike smirked. "Well, if you are what you eat—"

Spike was no more prepared for his second soda shower. Xander wisely said nothing when Spike pointedly moved his glass to the opposite side of the table. Of course, most of this could have been written off as just an unfortunate evening had Tony not challenged Spike to arm wrestle him at the table shortly after their food had arrived and Spike not felt obligated to accept for reasons entirely his own.

With identical looks of horror Xander and Jessica watched as their fists came down in the Capellini Pomodoro, launching the plate into the air and covering Spike in sauce.

Spike howled and clawed at his eyes and Xander did the first thing that occurred to him, which was to upend the water carafe over Spike's head.

Spike's screaming stopped and they sat there in stunned silence for several minutes before calling for the check.

"Sorry," Xander told him for the seventeenth or eighteenth time as they walked back to Xander's car from the restaurant, not wanting to damage the aging Roadmaster's upholstery.

Spike seethed and wrung out the front of his one decent dress shirt. "Next time," he said annunciating carefully through clenched teeth, "they can bloody well come to our house for dinner."

Xander stared at Spike in amazement that he was even considering a next time and smiled slightly.

"And I'm not wearing this tie again until someone dies, understood?" He asked, shaking the dripping piece of silk in front of him for emphasis. Xander couldn't help laughing, which was thankfully not the worst thing he could have done because Spike finally cracked a smirk.

"No tie, I promise," Xander assured him, still laughing. Spike's smirk slipped into an easy smile and Xander sheepishly took his hand, swinging it slightly as they walked. His phone rang, disrupting the returning easiness between them. He stiffened and pulled the cell from his pocket as Spike shuffled his feet and waited. It was Buffy.

He hung up, his still empty stomach rolling as he turned to Spike.

"We're moving on the Initiative tonight."

Spike looked stunned. "And the chip?"

This was the part that had Xander reeling. "There wasn't anything Riley could do, but Angel knows some people in LA. You're going with him tonight."

Spike's jaw dropped. "That was bloody quick. When do we leave?"

"Now, I guess. Buffy said to get ready and meet at her place as soon as we can."

For a long moment they stood there looking at each other in the middle of the street. The next time Xander saw Spike, he'd be whole again. Free. It wasn't a secure feeling he felt and he didn't want to give it a lot of thought. Spike looked somewhat deer-in-the-headlights, himself. Then, the moment passed and suddenly they were clutching each other, holding on for dear life and just struggling to breathe, or maybe that was just him.

"Come home to me," Xander murmured against his ear and Spike's arms tightened around him, leather creaking.

"You too. No heroics, you hear me? I'm not going to be there to watch your back so if there's trouble you just stay well out of it."

Xander nodded. They didn't speak all the way to Buffy's and he regretted it as soon as they pulled up to the house, seeing Giles loading the back of Joyce's Jeep with weapons as Joyce watched from the porch. Angel's GTX was parked out front and he and Buffy were arguing about something beside it. Willow, Tara and Anya came out of the house followed closely by Riley in black ops gear.

"Xander!" Willow called cheerily, calling the other's attention to them as they walked up the driveway.

"About time," Angel said, "Are you ready, Spike?"

Spike looked like he was about to say something to Xander but Willow was already chattering in his ear and pulling him over to Riley for briefing. He gave Spike one last desperate look before Spike smiled resignedly, turned and walked toward Angel.

Xander watched them drive away out the back of the Jeep as they pulled out of the driveway. The dark convertible, visible in the distance only for Spike's bleached head in the passenger seat, gradually disappeared around a corner. Buffy's hand squeezed his shoulder and he turned around.

"He'll be fine," she told him. "Angel won't let anything happen to him."

Xander smiled with confidence he didn't feel. Buffy seemed content with his silence and Xander returned to staring out into the darkness through his reflection in the window.

* * *

  
Angel smirked as he introduced the demon whose surgical services they'd be patronizing that evening. He was an ugly bugger, a Jurvoylt, twelve foot if he was an inch and covered in spines.

"Bet you were the tallest in your class," Spike quipped, covering his surprise.

The Jurvoylt rumbled and extended several razor sharp claws.

"Joseph here is going to get your chip out, Spike. Word of advice? Don't piss him off. He's a good surgeon but you wouldn't want him to…slip…and spend the rest of your unlife a vampire vegetable, now, would you?"

Joseph growled. Spike swallowed the words he had for Angel and nodded curtly. "Let's just get this done, then, yeah? Where do you want me? Got an operating table somewheres here?" He asked, looking around the dank warehouse in East LA.

Angel chuckled and Joseph moved forward, his stump like arms landed heavily on Spike's shoulders, forcing him to his knees.

"Hey! Ow!" he protested, then blanched as he saw the Jurvoylt's claws extend a further six or more inches. "Angel, what's…ahh!"

Spike screamed in terror as the claws plunged swiftly into his head through his temples. There was sharp, burning pain. He tasted ashes and smelled ozone. There was a loud popping sound, then his vision went white and he passed out.

* * *

  
The Nevada desert was oddly silent the further near they drew to the Initiative base, as if any and all local wildlife had seen the goings on, packed it in and headed for less dangerous habitats. Like Vegas.

"Hey Giles, I hate to be clichéd, but are we there yet?" Buffy asked. Xander was pretty interested to know, himself. Willow had been sound asleep on his shoulder since Barstow and it had been at least thirty miles since he could feel anything below his elbow.

Giles made a frustrated noise in the drivers seat as he leaned forward over the dash, scanning the landscape for the turnoff.

"Wait…there!" Riley announced pointing at something that looked more like a dry creek bed than a road.

Apparently Giles thought so too. "I thought you said it would be a gravel road."

Riley dissembled. "It probably is further into the mountains. I'm sure they just didn't want it to be obvious from the highway."

"It worked," Anya opined.

"Right. Hang on," Giles told them, taking the jeep off I-15. They bounced around inside the cab like dice in a Yahtzee cup until they pulled around the first outcropping of rock which, as Riley suggested, hid a much more level road.

Getting into the Initiative base was relatively simple. Despite the fact that the Sunnydale base had been infiltrated by civilians posing as soldiers, they seemed no more inclined to check credentials than ever and accepted Riley's cover story without suspicion, though how much of this was down to incompetence and how much was a result of Willow, Tara and Anya easing their way inside with spells, it would have been hard to figure. Giles was suitably convincing as a visiting scientist and Xander had little trouble acting the part of a recently transferred soldier. The base was far bigger than the one in Sunnydale, seemed to have been there a lot longer and it wasn't difficult to appear intimidated by the scope of the Initiative. Picturing what could have happened to Spike in any one of these cells or laboratories had he not escaped intimidated the living fuck out of him.

Remembering the purpose of their coming, Xander chanced a glance at Giles as they made their way down the cellblock with the guard on duty commenting idly on this specimen or that one. Giles seemed supremely unaffected by the guard's narrative at first glance, but then Xander noticed his fist reflexively clenching and unclenching in the pocket of his liberated lab coat and realized that Giles was likely terrified or furious or both.

"Here it is." The guard motioned to the door at the end of the long hallway, designated with triple Xs. The reality of the situation made it impossible for even his subconscious to muster a puerile joke. "Cell Thirty." The guard pushed forward and unlocked the door with a pass card.

"Thank you," Giles said cordially as he smashed the butt of Xander's rifle into the guard's face. The guard crumpled, bleeding to the floor.

For a moment Xander hesitated outside the cell door. Were they doing the right thing? Yes, Giles apparently loved Ethan, but that didn't make him any less dangerous. Xander had no delusions that he'd suddenly have a change of heart and repent of his wicked, wicked ways. Did it matter? Should it have mattered?

The decision wasn't his to make, and Giles was through the door before he could have made one anyway.

"Ethan?" Giles called into the darkened cell. There was no response, but Xander heard a softly repeated, "Ethan," as Giles found his long lost partner in crime. Xander stepped aside in the door and the light from the hallway cast the two men in shadow where Giles was propping Ethan up on the floor, speaking lowly.

"Ripper, you came," Xander heard Ethan mutter weakly. Giles let out a choked sound and pulled Ethan to him roughly. Xander turned away and tried to give them some privacy.

They were in love. Had been, for nearly thirty years. Despite everything they did to each other there was something elemental that kept them returning to one another. Good and evil seemed very incidental in the face of that magnetism.

It was a revelation. For a brief second, Xander caught a glimpse of his own future, measuring his life with Spike in terms of centuries rather than decades. And he realized there could be, and would be, separations and times they'd be at odds. There would be grave mistakes and times when the lines would blur so far between right and wrong as to be indistinguishable. But through that he could see there would be constancy and that connection would be their polestar. Messy, gloriously ugly, epically painful love.

And it was going to be the greatest adventure of his life.

"Come on," Xander prompted gently. "Let's get him out of here."

* * *

  
Spike came to in the lobby of the pouf's hotel. He tried to speak but his mouth wasn't making sounds that were readily identifiable as words.

"Here." A mug full of blood was thrust under his nose.

Spike looked blearily up at Angel's expectant face.

"Oh, here!" Angel announced, putting a straw in the mug. "Look! Bendy straw."

He looked so absurdly proud of himself, Spike couldn't help cracking a smile and immediately regretted moving his facial muscles. He took a sip of the blood and grimaced.

Angel sat down beside him on the moth eaten sofa. "I know, it's pigs blood, but hey, won't have to drink that again after today, right?"

Spike looked carefully at his grandsire. "'Spose not. Hospital always has more than it can use anyway."

Angel leaned in confidentially. "Oh, come on, Spike. You don't have a chip anymore. Nothing stopping you from getting it right from the source. Hot, sweet, pulsing with life…"

Spike looked askance at Angel. "Are you out of your bleeding mind? Did I miss you and the Slayer having a roll in the hay again?"

Angel shrugged. "What Buffy doesn't know won't hurt her. I was thinking maybe you and I could go out tonight. Find something fresh and local, for old times sake."

"For old times sake?" Spike repeated incredulously. "Maybe you missed the fucking memo, Angelus, but I'm not killin' humans anymore. My soul's still stuck on good and proper." Spike felt around his person for a stake, growing increasingly concerned about Angel's sudden propensity for dinner on the hoof.

Angel laughed, "If you're looking for a stake, don't bother. Come on, Spike, what's one or two bums off the street? If it's Xander you're worried about…"

"You're damned right I'm worried about him! If you're back to bathing in the blood of the innocent I'm getting him the hell out of California and, fair warning, if the Slayer can't bring herself to put an end to you, _I_ will!"

Angel scoffed. "You're a vampire, William. You can't deny your nature forever. I don't care how good a piece of ass Harris is—"

Spike's fist connected with Angel's jaw with a resounding _crack_. "You don't get to talk about my intended that way, _Sire_, not now, not _ever_."

Angel worked his jaw, wincing. "You'd throw away a chance to be what you were—feared, powerful, respected…at my side where you belong—to play house with a carpenter?"

Spike raised his chin and tried to look fierce through the haze of pain. "That's right, you ignorant, inbred, mick! And you can fuck directly off, or so help me I'll—"

"You'll what? Insult me to death? Look at you, William. You're about as ferocious as a kitten right now."

With a roar, Spike launched himself at Angel's jugular. Angel dodged his attack easily and he crashed to the floor in a heap.

"Spike!"

Spike hated Angel. He hated himself. Somehow he had to stop him. He had to find a way to get to Xander. To warn him.

"You bastard…" he spat from the floor, struggling to get to his feet and failing.

"Spike," Angel repeated quietly, kneeling beside him.

Spike looked up into Angel's face, which was suddenly devoid of that terrifying, arrogant swagger and now appeared nothing but concerned and sober.

_The son of a bitch._ "You were testing me."

Angel shrugged carelessly. "I had to know."

"Slayer put you up to this?"

Angel shook his head. "It was my idea. Actually, Buffy tried to talk me out of it."

Spike snorted. "Bloody typical. You arrogant, high handed—"

Angel held out his hand. Spike took it and pulled himself to his feet.

"Wanna drink?" Angel asked.

Spike sighed heavily. "Christ, yes."

They resettled on the couch, a bottle of Jameson old enough to vote between them. An ancient radio was playing in the background, filling in the spaces in their conversation handily.

"_What'll I do  
When you are far away  
And I am blue  
What'll I do?_"

"Fucking can't stand this song," Spike slurred. "Should have eaten that wanker Berlin when I had the chance."

Angel looked pensive. "Dru?"

Spike glowered. Dru's propensity for running off did nothing to improve his jealous disposition. "Couldn't get away from the bloody thing. Minute she left for Morocco I started hearing it every damn place I went."

"_What'll I do?  
When I am wond'ring who  
Is kissing you  
What'll I do?_"

"Does Buffy still love me, you think?" Angel blurted suddenly.

Spike blinked rapidly through the haze of pain medication and whiskey. "You want me to pass her a note? 'Do you like me, check yes or no'?"

Angel glared sullenly. Spike took pity on the pathetic bastard.

"I reckon she never stopped mate. An' you ever figure out how to get that soul fixed on nice and tight, you ought to do something about it. You both are fucking miserable without each other and it's pathetic. Now can we stop talking about our feelings or did you want me to braid your hair next?"

Angel glared and took a swallow of the bottle.

"_When I'm alone  
With only dreams of you  
That won't come true  
What'll I do?_"

"I'm going to ask her to be my date for the wedding."

Spike lifted his shot glass. "Best of luck." Which reminded him.

"Hey, Angel, you wanna marry us?"


	12. Chapter 12

"GOOD MORNING ALEXANDER HARRIS!"

"AAAAAAHHH!" Xander screamed and tried to run, only succeeding in tangling himself in the sheets and falling off the bed onto the floor. Willow peered down at him in surprise, a bullhorn in hand.

"Is it bad luck to kill the best woman on your wedding day? I forget," he asked, rubbing his elbow.

Willow grinned widely. "It is everywhere except for certain parts of Indonesia, I think. Now come on, sleepyhead! You're getting married and there's lots to do so chop chop!"

Xander reached up and threw his pillow at her.

Something about the sight of Anya with a headset directing traffic in his foyer where Buffy arranged tables and argued with her mother about chair placement while Tara and Anne looked on, arranging flowers from the garden, really drove home the fact that Xander needed more guy friends. Something crashed in the vicinity of the kitchen.

"What was that?" he asked Willow.

Willow looked shiftily from Xander to the kitchen doorway. "Nothing to worry about! Everything's under control," she said as Anya began barking into her headset.

"Clem, what's going on in there? Uh huh. Uh huh. Well I told you—uh huh."

Xander stared down his best friend of sixteen years. "Willow, who's in my kitchen?"

"Oh! Um, well, Clem's helping with the appetizers, you remember Clem right? So um, yeah, just him and Dawn—"

"_Dawn_ is in there?"__

"And your mom."

"MY _MOTHER_?" Xander felt the beginnings of a massive tension headache behind his right eye.

Willow winced. "They're just helping, Xander, that's all. Don't worry, Clem's really good with this stuff. It'll be fine! Promise! Hey, would I let anything screw up your wedding?"

Xander allowed himself to be mollified and threw his arm around her shoulder. "No, my Willow wouldn't do that."

"You're darn tootin'! Now march, mister! We've got to pick up your tux and Spike's ring and-- Oh! The liquor for the bar," she added with badly disguised disapproval.

"Willow, don't worry. I told you, I don't think Dad's drinking that much any more. Or at least, not at family functions. He's not—" Xander's devolving train of thought derailed his defense. He couldn't explain it, but it just seemed like his dad was more like Xander remembered him when he was a really young kid—before he got on disability and just drank all day watching military documentaries. Xander could hardly remember what it felt like not to be angry that the dad who'd chaperoned Cub Scout camping trips and built models with him had disappeared one day and been replaced by a bitter old man who wasn't happy with anyone around him or anything they did. Now, Xander could kind of see how emasculating it was to have to rely on government handouts and his Mom working double shifts at the diner to make ends meet. Tony was a guy whose self worth was built on being useful.

"Hello? Earth to Xander?" Willow snapped her fingers in front of his face.

He frowned. "Sorry, just thinking. Anyway, don't worry. I think one of Henri's people is bartending. No worries about crowd control."

Willow seemed inclined to accept that argument. She got a firm grip on his arm and steered him out the front door as another crash resounded behind him.

"What was _that_?" he demanded, exasperated. Willow just moved faster.

"I'm okay!" he heard Dawn call out triumphantly as the door closed behind them.

* * *

  
Across town, Spike sat in the dim sitting room of the Royal Sun Hotel's presidential suite, chain smoking and watching shadows move across the curtained windows. Angel was on the sofa reading something philosophical.

"Y'know, I think Henri will be back soon. Pretty sure your Sirely duties have been discharged if you wanna take off," Spike said.

Angel looked up from his book, surprised. "Do you want me to leave?"

Spike snorted and rolled his eyes. "Don't matter to me, mate. Just thought I might be keeping you from something, s'all." Spike gestured lazily at his book.

Angel closed the book self-consciously. "Sorry. Guess I haven't been much company."

"Lived in a crypt. I'm used to inanimate corpses."

Angel snorted and quirked that little half-smile of his, as close to mirth as he could get, it seemed. A loud knock on the door announced the return of Henri and his retinue.

"William, why are you not dressed yet?" Henri scolded.

Spike shrugged and took another drag on his cigarette before putting it out. "Wanted one last smoke before all this goes down. Not denying a man his last rites are you?"

Henri frowned. "You're not going to your death, William."

"S'joke, Henri. Just a bit on edge, is all. Did your men find what I asked for?"

Henri's two minions, really large blokes, came forward with two boxes, one wooden and very aged looking and the other an ordinary metal lockbox.

"Brilliant." Spike came forward and took the boxes carefully, setting them on the table. He opened the lockbox first and withdrew a tidy stack of very ordinary-looking legal documents. "Here, Peaches. Made a copy for you to keep in your offices in case something happens here and I can't get to 'em."

Angel took the papers Spike held out to him, looking utterly surprised. "What's all this?" he asked.

"That's power of attorney. Anything happens to Xan, I'm listed. Something happens to me an' he needs it, you're listed there as well."

Angel looked completely bewildered. "You did all this?"

"M'not a fledge, Angel. Odds are on he's going to end up in hospital, with or without a claim on him, and I'm promising to always be there when he needs me. I may be a lot of things, but an oath breaker isn't one of 'em. You'll see to it those are somewhere safe?"

Angel nodded solemnly. "I will."

"Good. As for the other," he said, opening the wooden box with a flourish, "Where's Alvaro?"

"Here, Sire," he said, appearing in the doorway to the bedroom.

"C'mere then," Spike directed. Alvaro came into the room warily, his eyes shifting between Henri and Spike as if waiting to be brutalized. Spike frowned. He was a far cry from the timid, damaged thing he'd taken from Katarine, but the scars she inflicted went deep on that one. "Alvaro, you've been working for me for what, almost a year now?"

"Yes, Sire."

"And despite the fact that you've always outranked my human servant, not once have you protested the favor I've shown him or challenged his authority in my household. You've been dutiful, loyal and done all I've asked of you and more. And for that I'd like to give you a gift and an additional responsibility, if you're willing."

Alvaro looked pleased and nearly excited. "Yes, Sire. It's an honor to serve you and Master Xander."

Spike extended the box, inside which was a small braided leather thong into which three small stones were interwoven. Spike removed it from the box and fastened it around Alvaro's wrist. "It's a talisman. It has a couple purposes. One, it makes it so trouble will tend to think twice about tangling with you. Makes most types lose interest in fighting unless they really have a bone to pick. It also does this," Spike pulled back his sleeve to show he wore one as well. He touched the stone in the middle and whispered "_Mudança_." There was a blinding flash of light and instantly their positions had changed.

"Whoa," said Angel.

"Nifty, huh? Xan's got one too." Spike turned back to Alvaro. "So here's the thing. We get ourselves in a jam, we have these handy bracelets to get us out. Only trick is, it only shifts us about. You might be tending the garden one minute and pulled into a fight the next. You think you can handle that?" he asked.

Alvaro agreed quickly. "Yes, Sire."

Spike nodded, satisfied. "The black stone is for me, the red one is Xan and the white one is you. You ever need to switch about with us, you touch the one for Xan or me and say 'Change' and it'll do the rest. It'll recognize English or Portuguese."

"Thank you, Sire."

Spike inclined his head to his servant and let him make his escape back to the bedroom.

"Those things are dangerous, Spike," Angel said when the door had closed behind Alvaro. "In the wrong hands, any of your enemies could summon you or Xander—"

"I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?"

Spike rubbed his eyes wearily. "It's the best way to get Xander out of harm's way in a melee."

Angel's voice rose in anger and frustration. "And if you're killed?"

Spike gritted his teeth. "You have power of attorney. Money, property rights, all of it. You take care of my boy or I will upend hell to see you praying for death. Clear enough for you?"

Henri's muscle shifted awkwardly. The master stepped forward and took a seat in one of the club chairs. "Pierre, Jean-Louis, you have places to be. I'll see you at Master Spike's." Spike sighed and sat in the chair opposite. "You should get dressed, _mon ami_."

Spike nodded reluctantly. "Suppose so, yeah. What about you, Peaches? You getting tarted up here?"

"Cordy dropped off my tux while you were asleep."

Spike nodded and headed for the shower.

"Spike—" Angel stopped him.

"Yeah?" It came out slightly exasperated. Spike tried to calm himself. "Yes?" he tried again.

"Did you ever have any luck tracking down that watch?" Angel asked.

Spike bristled. "No, you sod, I couldn't. Went through every source I had—reputable, disreputable and otherwise—and the bleeding thing is lost to the ages. Probably rust lining the bottom of the Thames by now."

Angel smirked and reached into his pocket. "It look anything like this?" In his hand was a gold pocket-watch and chain.

Spike's jaw dropped. "Where the hell did you get that?" He snatched it from Angel's outstretched hand and opened it, tracing the inscription.

_H.T.P.  
1844  
Your Anne_

"Dru had it. Said a little bird spoke to her and told her to take it all those years ago."

Spike smiled warmly. "Soft old girl. How is she?"

Angel chuckled. "Revered. Who do you think filled the power vacuum you and Xander left in Sao Paolo?"

Spike burst out laughing. "You're kidding, mate! Dru's Mistress now?"

Angel smiled proudly. "It suits her. She sends her love. Told me to tell you to bring your dark kitten for a visit soon."

Spike snorted. "I'm sure she did. I'm surprised you didn't try to stake her. It's not like you to turn a blind eye to blatant evil-doing."

Angel's expression rapidly turned to stone. "I would never stake Dru."

Spike raised an imperious eyebrow. "Because you're above killing your own kin, right Sire?"

Angel looked stricken. "I did things to Dru that will haunt me as long as I live. I was vicious and cruel—"

"Not disagreeing, mate."

"—But I'll never regret turning her. I'm proud of what you became in spite of me. Both of you."

There wasn't much Spike could say to that. He nodded his thanks, turned on his heels and turned up the water in the shower as hot as it would go.

* * *

  
The bedroom was dim and quiet and much cooler than the rest of the house, for which Xander was immensely grateful as he adjusted his tie in the mirror. There was a knock on the door.

"Come in."

The door swung open slowly and Tony Harris stepped in cautiously. "You decent?"

Xander smirked. "Yeah, Dad. Come on in."

Tony sank into the chair by the dresser. "Place looks good. Your mom's having a ball down there."

Xander smiled. "I'm glad. Hey, can you give me a hand with my cuffs? Willow was supposed to be here but—" he trailed off as his dad wordlessly stood and fastened his cufflinks.

"Thanks. She disappeared hours ago. I was starting to wonder if they were going to try and do this without me."

Tony took a long look at his son. "Get used to being alone, boy. You've got a lot of friends, but you're the only partner he's going to have. And eventually he's all you're going to have."

Xander looked around the quiet room and nodded in understanding.

Somewhere outside the door the girls laughed uproariously and serving trays clattered in the kitchen. Bottles were clinking behind the small bar. Chairs scraped loudly across the tile. It was almost eight o' clock. He could imagine the people milling around downstairs—could almost hear a low hum of voices in conversation as Alvaro took their coats and ushered them into the garden.

Somewhere downstairs, Spike was there, waiting for him.

The bedroom door opened. Willow's small face peeked around the corner. "Xander? It's time."

He felt as if he was outside his body looking in as he left the room. The wrought iron banister was wrapped in white silk and Christmas tree lights. He tried not to touch it, but his tux shoes didn't have any traction and his knees were shaking a little bit. His palm slid on the iron rail, but it felt cool and that was kind of nice.

The foyer was filled with small tables. There was a longer table tucked in by the stairs with a cake on it. He barely noticed. His heart almost stopped as he walked out onto the back porch.

The garden was lit with more white lights and everyone he loved was standing there, looking at him. Giles smiled encouragingly at him, a subdued looking Ethan standing close to his side. Buffy was there, and Dawnie, smiling, next to Tara and Anya, all of them wearing the same floaty white dresses as Willow. Joyce was there and Manon and he saw Angel waiting on the path underneath the bay tree. Anne was there beside him and on the other side was his mother and she just looked so _happy_.

"Where's Spike?" he asked Willow.

She put her arm through his and spoke softly, "Masters don't wait for Consorts."

Xander nodded and they made their way down the steps onto the brick path and toward Angel.

Willow kissed his cheek and they turned to watch the house. He didn't have long to wait.

Spike appeared in the doorway, flanked by Alvaro and Henri. Xander stopped breathing and everything narrowed to the man with soft, tousled blond curls in a sharp, two button pin striped tuxedo walking toward him. Angel said something but he didn't hear it. Spike smiled softly at him and pulled a piece of paper from his vest pocket. Oh, right. Vows.

> "_My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion,  
> He going with me must go well arm'd,  
> He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions._
> 
> Allons! the road is before us!  
> It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well—be not detain'd!
> 
> Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen'd!  
> Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn'd!  
> Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!  
> Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.
> 
> Camerado, I give you my hand!  
> I give you my love more precious than money,  
> I give you myself before preaching or law;  
> Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?  
> Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?"

Xander felt a handkerchief pressed into his hand and didn't understand why until he felt tears seeping under his shirt collar. He dried his eyes as quickly as he could and pulled out the poem he'd chosen for Spike. Xander cleared his throat and began shakily,

> "_I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:  I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul._
> 
> I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries  hidden within itself the light of those flowers, and thanks to your love, darkly in my body lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
> 
> I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,  I love you simply, without problems or pride:  I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
> 
> but this, in which there is no I or you,  so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,  so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close."

Spike reached for his hand and Xander felt as though he'd grabbed a live wire as the heavy band was slipped onto his finger.

Willow pressed Spike's ring into his palm and Xander shook as he placed it on Spike's hand. There were words, but Xander didn't hear them or recall what he said in return. Everything was in Spike's eyes and his hand in his and the world disappeared around them.

Somebody started clapping, and then there was the kiss, sweet, profound and over far, far too soon. They were swept along the path into the house and suddenly Xander had only Spike's hand and the memory of his kiss to ground him in the crush of well-wishers.

* * *

  
The evening was a blur of handshakes and polite conversation. He and Spike were separated, working opposite sides of the room, accepting congratulations from their friends and loved ones. There was cake. Eventually they found themselves back in the middle of the room together, but before he could collapse onto Spike's shoulder in exhausted relief, someone handed him a flute of champagne and the toasts began. Spike did look apologetic as he kicked out a chair for Xander to sit down. With great command of the room, he began to speak.

"Surprised a lot of people when we got together. Not hard to see why—it's not every day you can overlook kidnapping and getting clocked with a microscope to make a love match. Well, unless you belong to the order of Aurelius. Then it's pretty much just courting."

Xander winced as a chorus of laughter went up from the assembled vamps and demons in attendance and those well enough acquainted.

"Xander's the kind of bloke that will love you even when he doesn't like you. Give shelter to an enemy down on his luck. He'll bring you back to life when everyone else has given up on you," Spike addressed this last to Buffy whose mouth was a tight line and whose eyes were shining.

"Xander's friendship feels like a secret. An inside joke with your best friend that makes you feel like the most important person in the world. Makes you stronger, better for it. It nourishes you. Fills you up. Makes you whole.

"I was looking for my tux shoes the other day and found a receipt in the back of the wardrobe. You see, Xander gave me a journal when I came back after getting my soul." Spike paused and looked down. Xander saw he was struggling to keep it together and took his hand. Spike nearly crushed it as he continued, on the verge of a sob.

"The receipt was dated two weeks after we split up."

"He's strong, beautiful, funny, loving, giving and the best person I've ever known. But he's my Consort because like the selfish bastard I am, I never want to have to say goodbye to my best friend," Spike finished softly.

Xander heard nothing else the rest of the night.

* * *

  
Eventually, the party wound down and their friends began gently herding the guests toward the doors. And then Spike was there, taking his hand and leading him upstairs.

Xander stood in the middle of the room like he didn't know where he was or what he was doing there. Everything felt surreal and his heart was beating out of his chest. Spike ran his hands up Xander's sides and down, his chest pressed to Xander's back as he peppered the nape of his neck with slow, moist kisses. Xander flexed his hands and turned, wound his hands in Spike's hair and kissed him with broad strokes of his tongue, capturing the flavor of Spike's groans. There were hands on his ass, bringing their bodies flush. They broke away, panting, and undid each other's ties and shirt buttons. Vests and coats hit the floor and hands trailed across bare skin. There were more kisses, Spike's tongue dancing along the column of Xander's neck as Xander strained to give him access to all the dirty little spots that made Xander's cock jump. His rougher hands scraped across the plains of Spike's alabaster chest and circled his nipples. Spike thrust against him. Their hands fumbled with their pants. They toed off their shoes, mouths never parting as they awkwardly, frantically disrobed.

Naked in the dim light of their bedroom, Spike stood back and caressed Xander's hair, fingers trailing down his ears and neck. Xander smiled.

"You ready, pet?" Spike asked, showing incredible restraint.

Xander took a deep breath and nodded.

Spike grabbed his hand and dragged him to the bed, sitting him on the edge as he pawed at the nightstand, finding the razorblade he'd placed there earlier. Xander's eyes widened.

"Don't worry," Spike told him, "This is for me. You don't have fangs. You trying to bite me hard enough to get any decent amount of blood would hurt like a son-of-a-bitch." Spike leered. "And I want this to feel _really_ good."__

Xander's rampant dick agreed whole-heartedly as Spike straddled his lap, carefully holding the blade away from him. For a moment, Spike just sat there, staring at him.

"I love you," Xander told him.

"I love you too," Spike said, shifting his weight and gently leaned into the angle of Xander's neck and shoulder. He whispered, "_Vechno shakhta_," and the burning started.

Xander's hips bucked and he moaned as the beautiful burning pain began from the tips of Spike's fangs and radiated to the small of his back, to his tightening sack, to all points southward. His toes curled. He was only vaguely aware of the needy, desperate sounds he made, thrusting up against Spike's cock as one, two, three long draws of his blood were taken. When Spike withdrew he was _freezing_. Xander shivered violently. Spike's hands rubbed up and down his arms briskly a few times, trying to give back a little of his borrowed warmth before he leaned over and pulled back the bed covers.

"In," he commanded. Xander complied eagerly. Spike took a small, stoppered bottle off the nightstand and climbed under the covers with Xander. Tenting the blankets over his back, he poured a generous measure of the oil over Xander's unflagging erection. It dripped down over his balls and into his crack. Spike's fingers followed, preparing him carefully. The oil warmed and Xander moaned, still lightheaded from the loss of blood.

"_Vechno shakhta_," Spike repeated before Xander felt the pressure of Spike's cock at his entrance. He breached the tight ring of muscle slowly and Xander felt himself flying apart. His world narrowed to the transcendent sensation that wasn't pain or pleasure but something that was both and neither and so much better than anything he'd ever felt before. He lost himself in the delicious _slip, thrust, drag_ of the act for a while until Spike's softly spoken, "Xander, look at me, love," brought him back.

Spike raised the blade and made a small, deep cut high on the junction of his shoulder and neck. A trickle of blood dripped down his chest. Without thinking, Xander grabbed Spike's hips for leverage, sat up and licked up the trail of blood. Spike shuddered and made a whining sound low in his throat.

"Say the words, pet," he panted.

Xander took a deep breath. "_Vechno shakhta_," he said, then fastened his lips over the cut and drew.

Willow's parents had an espresso machine. One night, when her parents had been out of town for an academic conference, he and Jesse had spent the night. Eager for their first taste of better living through chemistry, Willow had fired up the machine and they'd sat in the kitchen doing espresso shots until two in the morning.

This felt kind of like that.

Spike howled and came. Xander's nerve endings were on fire. He was more awake than he'd ever been in his life. Harder than he'd ever felt in his life. Xander shuddered, his cock pulsing almost painfully in Spike's fist and he felt something _slip_ and lock into place—some kind of hyperawareness. He should have been exhausted and out of breath but he felt as though he'd just awoken, rested from a good night's sleep.

He withdrew from Spike's neck, taking in the dazed look on his face, the unnecessary panting, and gently stroked the side of his face. Spike's hand captured his and brought it to his mouth. Spike kissed his fingertips.

Xander looked down and grimaced. "Wow. I thought this claiming thing was going to be all sexy and mystical but I kind of feel like the floor of Big Bob's X Rated Movie Palace. Shower?"

Spike collapsed bonelessly back onto the bed. "Bath. Carry me?"

Xander snorted. "Only if someone's carrying me."

"Bugger it. I'm calling Alvaro."

Xander laughed and flopped down beside him, lazily linking their hands. "So. Everything you hoped for?" he asked, trying not to sound too needy.

Spike smiled stupidly. "Pet, I haven't felt anything like that since I was turned. You were a bloody marvel, love. Truly. And you? How's the—" Spike trailed off, gesturing lazily to his neck.

Xander reached up and touched the puncture wounds. "Fine. Not even sore, really. So what now? Do I have to call you Master? Do I have special duties as your consort?"

Spike looked him in the eye. "Yes. And your first duty is getting us in the tub before we fossilize."

Xander snorted. "Sure thing, _Master_."__

Spike shivered, eyes flashing gold momentarily. "Then again, don't suppose you'd like another go round? Just to make sure the claim took?"

"Get in the tub, Spike."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

  


Epilogue

Spike woke to find himself alone in bed. He squinted at the clock and saw it read three in the morning. The house was quiet. Spike threw on Xander's robe and padded down to the kitchen.

Xander's paint-splattered work radio was playing a soft bossa nova courtesy of the college jazz station and Xander was sitting at the kitchen island in front of the remains of their wedding cake with a large glass of milk and a fork.

Spike laughed and Xander looked up.

"Did you know there was food at the wedding? Did _you_ have any?"

Spike pulled down a mug and a pack of blood from the fridge. "I think Clem passed me a canapé at one point."

Xander looked thoughtful. "Was it good?"

Spike shrugged. "Tasted fine. Hungry, I take it?"

Xander smiled around a mouthful of cake. "This is actually really good."

Spike snagged a bit off Xander's fork and popped it in his mouth. It _was_ good. "You gonna make faces when I dunk this in blood?"

Xander got up and pulled Spike's mug from the microwave. Without another word, Xander stuck his fork in the cake, dunked it in the mug and brought it to his mouth as Spike looked on in horror.

Xander chewed thoughtfully and swallowed with a completely straight face.

"Well?" Spike asked.

Xander erupted into laughter. "That was _disgusting_."

Spike burst out laughing and took his mug back from Xander. He found the leftovers from the wedding in the fridge and pulled out a couple plate's worth of bits on crackers, bits on lettuce and bits wrapped in other bits with toothpicks stuck through them. Outside Alvaro moved the sprinklers.

Something in Spike loosened as he watched Xander eat.

Xander caught him staring. "What? I have something on my face?" he asked, wiping his chin.

Spike shook his head. "Just looking. And liking," he added with an exaggerated leer.

Xander smiled and reached out a finger to trace the ridges of his game face, still present. "Me too. You don't think this is going to chafe after a while—all this domesticity?" he asked, gesturing around the kitchen.

Spike took a sip of his blood and shook his head. "Nah. Been thinking about kids, actually."

Xander choked on a bite of prosciutto wrapped melon. Spike clapped him on the back. "Um, that's not physically possible," he coughed out.

Spike stuck out his tongue lasciviously. "Yeah, but don't you want to keep trying?"

Xander laughed and started coughing again.

Down by the pier, Angel and Buffy walked and talked. When she stumbled, Angel reached out and took her hand. She didn't let go.

In a condo across town Ethan woke from a nightmare to find Giles there beside him.

In Joyce's kitchen, Anne had another slice of cheesecake. Joyce rattled off her plans for the gallery and poured coffee. Dawn listened at the door in her pajamas.

Tara and Willow slept through the party going on in the room next door.

In Cambodia, the consort of the Master of Phnom Penh screamed as she woke beside her lover's ashes.

In a Sunnydale hotel room, Henri De Sauveterre frowned deeply as he read the report of his mysterious demise. Manon stood at his elbow with a cup of tea, her hand on his shoulder, and noted the first rays of false dawn creeping around the edges of the curtain.

On the banks of the _Tonlé Sap_ a man dressed in black returned an ax wrapped in silk to the wizened hermit from whom he'd borrowed it.

Xander and Spike found their way back to bed as dawn broke and the night ended.

In a hut along the _Tonlé Thom_, their story was just beginning.


End file.
